


Belphegor's Prime

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Awkward Conversations, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Demon Deals, Demon Kylo Ren, Digital Art, Embedded Images, Explicit Language, F/M, Feels, Fluffy Ending, Grinding, Innuendo, Kissing, Mild Sexual Content, POV Kylo Ren, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology 2019, Sexual Humor, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Kylo is an ancient demon who trades power for the souls of the greedy. When his latest client wishes to barter his soul for theRammahgon,a sacred Jedi text, Kylo is unprepared for the resistance he encounters from Rey Jackson, a mysterious graduate student and theRammahgon’scurrent owner.[excerpt]:“Do you make it a habit of frequenting coffee shops to check out the seating arrangements?” Rey asks, startling Kylo from his musings.“Neither,” he says with a laugh, admiring her spunk.She gestures at his empty hands, noticeably free of a pastry or drink. “Killing time?”Kylo shakes his head. “I wish I had the luxury. Actually, I’m here on business.” He leans forward as her eyes grow wary, their cautious nature slipping away into something much more guarded. “And my business, Rey Jackson, has to do with you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to my brilliant and amazing beta [Stella Lou Jones](http://stellaloujones.tumblr.com/), who took on multiple roles as my comma-herder, run-on-sentence coraller, thesaurus, and all-around cheerleader. You not only had amazing suggestions, you were so much fun to work with. Thanks also to the wonderful mods, for going above and beyond in every possible way. This is one of my favorite fests. I love this year's theme, and am delighted to be a part of it. ❤
> 
> *Cover art by the insanely talented [Miranda Quinn](https://www.mirandaquinn.com/) who donated her time and efforts as part of [FandomTrumpsHate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/). For more of Miranda's works, check out her [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosyourmaster) and [Tumblr](https://onthemeander.tumblr.com/).  
** For a slightly spoilery introduction to Belphegor, see the end notes.

###  **CHAPTER I**

Blood red nails drum an impatient beat along the tabletop, their rhythm growing faster. “And what, Mr. Ren, makes you think you have anything of value?”

Kylo crosses his legs. He doesn’t miss the way in which the woman’s gaze lingers on the fabric stretching across his thighs before dropping covetously down the lengths of his polished wingtip shoes.

Not that he blames her. There’s almost nothing in the world that parallels the beauty of a Testoni. It’s a private joke, of sorts, given his habit of stepping on people.

If there’s anything New York has taught him, it’s that things are more fun when done with style.

“I believe, Ms. Eden, that it’s the other way around.” Kylo’s smile widens. “After all, I know what I have to offer. The question is: can you do anything to match it?”

“That, of course, depends on what I’m matching.” Carol Eden, COO of AestheTec Incorporated watches him with a feigned incuriosity that doesn’t fool Kylo for a second. If it’s not for the way her pupils are dilating ever-so-slightly, or the way she’s leaning forward in her uncomfortable yet stylish Wegner chair, then it’s in the way her heart quickens and the way the slightly sour smell of her sweat colors the notes of her perfume.

Kylo tsks. “I’m surprised. For a woman of your stature and...reputation, I would have expected you to be more prepared.”

She grasps the dossier in front of her and tosses it across the desk. “Your accomplishments are quite impressive, Mr. Ren. Your contacts, something to be envied.” She looks up, her expression curious and a little wary. “Yet a Google search comes up surprisingly empty in regards to anything outside your business ventures. No Met galas; no charity auctions. No paramours...to speak of.”

If possible, Kylo’s amused smile grows even wider. “I prefer to keep my private life exactly that. Private. I promise, I am very much concerned with the human condition.” He shifts and places both feet on the ground, careful to remain non-threatening as he leans forward. “On the other hand, there isn’t a week that goes by where you’re _ not _ in the media. AestheTec’s stock has shot up from $4.79 to $85.05 a share in just eight years. You occupy a penthouse apartment in Tribeca, have a besotted husband who takes your daughter to school and her dance classes while you jet off with your twenty-seven year old handsome but not-very-competent assistant for a purported meeting with investors overseas.” Kylo raises a single dark brow knowingly, delighted by her look of outrage.

“We are done here, Mr. Ren,” she says, her sharp cheekbones pinking. “You couldn’t possibly have anything I want—”

“Oh? You do not want to become CEO of AestheTec? Have your name atop a tower? How about a chain of hotels? The cachet of celebrity?”

Her cheeks turn scarlet. “As if I would covet anything so mundane.”

“Perhaps a different sort of influence and power.” Kylo stands before the expanse of windows to stare out at the Manhattan skyline and beyond, pale hands clasped behind his back. “Perhaps, something…._ presidential?” _

There is a slow intake of breath. “Empty promises. You couldn’t possibly have the ability to give me that—”

Kylo turns back to her, all teeth. “You said it yourself: my list of contacts is something to be envied. And what you have there, in that tiny little file, is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.” He straightens his cuffs, full lips pressing together, secretive and all-knowing. “I’ve had _ years _ to form alliances, influence parties and encourage shifts of power.”

Ms. Eden bites her lower lip. The cherry-red lipstick she wears smears the sharp edges of her front teeth. “You think you can give me my heart’s desire?”

Kylo spreads his hands, palms up. “Pretty much. Well, except for one. Love and lust aren’t in my jurisdiction. You may have control of your assistant’s dick, but his heart, unfortunately belongs to someone else.”

“I think I quite hate you,” she seethes, the tips of her fingers digging into her palms.

Kylo shrugs.

Mortals like Carol Eden are easy. He’s known from the start that she’ll give him what he wants, and while he might have relished the cat and mouse chase a thousand or even five hundred years ago, it no longer holds a thrill. Instead, he finds himself...well, _ bored. _ It’s a foregone conclusion that she’ll cave, so why not just bring it to its inevitable end?

Kylo waves his hand. It’s graceful motion, subtle yet determined. Flames spring to life in the palm of his hand, and he nearly sighs when, as predicted, Carol jumps back before honing her gaze as their fat bases coalesce into a flickering curtain framing an image.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathes.

“Try again.”

Her hands are white-knuckled along the edge of her desk, shoulders set in a tense line, yet she stares at what he holds in front of her with an openly hungry expression.

“How could you…? I’ve never told anyone my—”

“Deepest desire,” Kylo finishes. “As I said, I know what I have to offer. It happens to be my business. Granting wishes, for a price.” He waves his hand again and the image disappears in a puff of smoke, much to her apparent dismay. “It’s my family’s way.”

Her swallow echoes through the large space. “And your price?”

Hook, line, and here comes the sinker. Kylo reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and slides out a roll of parchment. She looks at it warily until her greed gets the best of her and she snatches it up between her fingers.

_ Bingo. _

“You...you want my soul?” she asks faintly. “I’m assuming you mean that metaphorically.”

“Oh no, Ms. Eden. It’s very literal, I assure you.”

She lets out a rueful laugh. “And here, I thought you were organized crime.”

Kylo smiles faintly. “I guess that would depend on your point of view. I personally think that my family’s competitors fit that definition better. After all, they have been extorting humans for centuries. Battles have been fought in their honor, buildings erected in their name, artworks commissioned and created by backbreaking labor. People give up their earthly pleasures and possessions, but for what end? For the hope that when all is said and done, they will attain some blessed state, a place amongst the righteous after death?” He shakes his head, bemused. “It is better—more assured, even—to enjoy life while living than to hope for something with no guarantee. As a shrewd businesswoman, you must see which side the odds favor.”

Her ramrod posture slumps in defeat. “But your price, Mr. Ren. My soul.”

“Is that really such a high price when it is of such little use to you anyway?” he asks gently

*****

When Kylo steps out into the Manhattan sunshine later that afternoon, he grimaces. The summer heat has made the sharp asphalt and polluted waters of the Hudson rise and spoil the sweet scent of desperation and ruthlessness that has tinged so many of his interactions in the city recently. The scent is unpalatable—not so much for its noisome nature, but because it adds yet another layer of sadness to something which once caused his heart to race, but now fails to cause it to tick even a single beat faster.

It had taken him less than ten minutes to capture Carol Eden’s soul. A new record. He snaps his fingers, and their contract, signed, sealed, and unbreakable, disappears into a vault with the 1,000,000,000,000,066,600,000,000,000,001 other signatures he’s accumulated over the years. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does that by this point, his victories have lost some of their luster.

He slips on his shades, nostrils flaring at the smell of humans and the city and the sun and heads home.

**>oo<**

“I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking skiving off for the rest of the day. I bagged an up-and-coming Hollywood director, an actor with the potential to be the next Oscar winner, and a nominee for the Nobel Peace prize. And that was just before breakfast.”

Kylo looks over to where his sister lounges across the chaise, her long, pale limbs dangling over a tufted arm. “It’s hardly Herculean, Phasma. Considering breakfast for you usually starts with mimosas at one, followed by martinis at four.”

“Plus, you’re talking about directors and aspiring actors. It’s like taking candy from a babe,” Hux drawls.

Phasma pushes her lower lip into a luscious pout as Hux lifts his ginger brow and smirks. “You two are no fun,” she says. “Seriously. Worst. Brothers. Ever.” She takes her half-empty wine glass and tosses the entire thing, cut crystal quarter-filled with burgundy liquid, towards Kylo.

Kylo waves his hand. The liquid freezes in the air, droplets splayed out like a bloody ink blot, stymied from making its vertical descent. A downward movement of his fingers causes both the glass and petrified liquid to float onto the table. “You have become too predictable in your years, dear sister.”

“As have you,” Phasma retorts. “Like I would truly risk damaging my Plume Blanche.”

Kylo is tempted to seize the glass and dump it all over the damned sofa.

Hux shakes his head and gives them a fond look. “Familial love. Is there anything better?”

“I’m sure your perverted mind can come up with a few ideas,” Phasma counters. “Speaking of which, what kind of hedonism do you have planned for tonight?”

Hux’s green eyes flash with excitement, his canines white and sharp. “A rooftop party at Hudson Yards. Lots of drugs and little morals. The perfect hunting ground.”

Kylo snorts. “To get your prick wet, perhaps.” At Hux’s look of affront, he rolls his eyes and continues. “Where’s the challenge? You spend your time in clubs where people get high and try to outdo one another with their attractiveness and whom they fuck. All Phasma has to do is scroll through Instagram or watch a little YouTube before she’s buried under an avalanche of false pride and vanity. Don’t you feel that we’re almost...I don’t know, _ superfluous?” _

Phasma stares as Kylo slumps back dramatically against the cushions. “Wow. What crawled up your ass?”

“A ridiculous existential crisis. Which _ is _ ridiculous, because our very existence is defined by our purpose.” Hux walks over to Phasma, his movements a sinuous echo of his first foray into the world when he made his debut as the premiere shit-stirrer in the Garden of Eden.

“Let me lay it out for you plainly Kylo, you befuddled fool.” Hux holds up an elegant finger and begins ticking things off methodically. “First, we start with dear old Dad: Satan; Mephistopheles; Beelzebub; Lucifer; the Prince of Darkness—take your pick. Granted, Dad used to strike fear in even the most stalwart of men, but these days, he’d rather spend his days arguing with Uncle Snoke with his gold lamé robes and quite comfortable slippers.”

Kylo frowns. “You have to give them their due. They’ve been at it for nearly half a million years.” The thought of doing _ this _ for so long is making him bonkers.

“They look it, too,” Phasma says, staring at her nails. “All that dry heat. Terrible for the skin.”

Hux waves his hand irritably. “Anyway. You can forgive Dad for seeking some help, given the population explosion. We are his children. The persuaders of the first order, démons extraordinaire.”

“Or in the case of our brethren in LA, démons moyens,” Phasma laughs.

“Now, Phasma dear, we can be generous,” Hux chides as he trails a finger along the swell of her thigh. “After all, sloth, gluttony, and envy have their place in the world as well.” He turns his glittering gaze on Kylo, and Kylo once again wonders why he was tasked with the assignment of power instead of Hux. “Our responsibility is to grant a sinner their heart’s desire in trade for their soul. To wit, I grant beauty to those who lust. Phasma provides success to those who succumb to their vanity and pride. And you, little brother, promise power to the greedy. If we’re surrounded by the fruits of our labor, all it means is that we’ve been successful in our mission.”

Something wells up within Kylo’s chest, a restlessness that borders on temperamental. “It’s boring, is what it is,” he sighs, his voice approaching a petulant whine. “I’ve ceased caring.”

“Keep up that attitude, and you’ll no longer be Daddy’s favorite,” Hux replies, his expression carefully blank.

Phasma tsks, the sound of it almost sympathetic. “New York is second only to DC when it comes to greed and power. Perhaps next century we’ll relocate to somewhere more challenging. What about North Korea?”

Hux scoffs. “And forgo all your precious universities, think tanks and banking powerhouses concentrated within a twenty-three square mile radius?”

“Excuse me, do I need to remind you of the actors and models and fashion houses…”

Kylo shuts his eyes as Hux and Phasma’s bickering fades into the distance. It’s true that they’ve all had it easy ever since moving to Manhattan in the seventies. He thought nothing would beat the drug-and sex-fueled haze of the Studio 54 days. The concentration of people and loosening mores had made collecting souls easy pickings, but now he wonders if there’s any place in the world that’s immune, given the technological advancements of the last two decades.

His vibrating cell rouses him from his musings.

**Mitaka:** _Tell Phas to stop infringing on my territory_

Kylo huffs out a laugh. He’s not inserting himself in this battle. Mitaka doesn’t have to deal with an irritated Phasma on the daily.

**Kylo:** _In the time it took you to message me, you could have told her yourself_

**Mitaka: ** _ ur no fun _

_ Btw, I tried. She’s not answering _

**Kylo: ** _ She’s in the middle of a pissing contest with Hux _

**Mitaka: ** _ smh _

**Kylo: ** _ Did you use up your daily quota of words? LA’s made you lazy _

**Mitaka: ** _ ADIP bb _

**Kylo: ** _ What does that mean? _

**Mitaka: **(face palm emoji) _Sometimes I’m embarrassed we’re related_

Kylo watches as the series of dots continue for what seems an interminable amount of time

**Mitaka: ** _ Another Day in Paradise _

_ Can’t believe you made me type that out _

**Kylo: ** _ Think of all the calories you expended _

**Mitaka: ** _ There are better ways of expending them, my friend. Ask Hux _

**Kylo: ** _ Nine words to a sentence. Miracles do happen _

**Mitaka: ** _ BM _

Kylo stares at Mitaka’s message, certain he’s missed something

**Kylo:** _What does that have to do with anything?_

**Mitaka: ** _ ??? _

Kylo rolls his eyes, then sends Mitaka a string of emojis

**Mitaka: ** _ POOP EMOJIS?!!!!!!!!!!!! _

_ I know you get off on being all strong and silent, but you’ve got to work on your texting skills. Or you’re having a conversation on an entirely different plane, in which case can I have some of what you’re taking? _

**Kylo:** _You’re the one who typed 'BM'_

_ Also. Did those string of words break you? _

**Mitaka: ** _ Nah, using speech to text now _

_ And you’ve got to get with the times. 'BM' means ‘bite me’, not bowel movement. Seriously, Kylo, sometimes you’re so last century _

That prompts Kylo to send the “middle finger” emoji, after which he shuts off his phone and throws it against the corner of the couch. He looks up to see Hux and Phasma staring at him with twin bemused expressions.

“Whatever’s going on, get over your manpain, Kylo. It’s completely unbecoming for someone of your stature.”

“I resent that, Phasma,” Hux interjects. “Kylo’s little temper tantrum is an insult to men everywhere.”

“There’s nothing little about me. Trust me, if I throw a tantrum, you’d know it,” Kylo says, eyebrows drawn down in a baleful glare.

“You’re right. Throwing a tantrum means making an effort, and that you care. Two things that you’re sorely lacking at the moment.” Hux taps his finger against his chin, and a sudden prickle of worry eases its way into Kylo’s chest.

“What you need is an intervention,” Hux finishes brightly.

“Yes! Come out with us tonight!” Phasma pleads. She gets up and walks over to Kylo, draping herself over his shoulders as she ruffles his hair.

“Just because it’s not a challenge to get one’s prick wet doesn’t mean it’s not fun,” Hux adds.

Kylo heaves a long sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there.” He uses the declaration as an excuse to exit, making his way down the hall and closing the door to his bedroom with a satisfying slam. He has little hope that the party will cure his ills, but at worst, his begrudging agreement will buy him freedom from Hux and Phasma’s meddling for at least a few hours.

**>oo<**

By the time noon rolls around the next day, not only has Kylo _ not _ come any closer to wetting his prick, his sense of ennui was at an all-time high.

“Honestly, I have no idea what’s wrong with you,” Hux says as he barges into Kylo’s office unannounced to throw a magazine at him. “I had September’s cover girl and her twin practically at your feet and you _ still _ didn’t do anything.” He pauses, a smug gleam in his eyes as he gazes at Kylo’s crotch. “You’re not having... _ issues, _ are you? If you are, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who carries really great stuff.”

Kylo barely manages to hold back his snort. “Everything is in perfect working order. I’m surprised you noticed anything, considering the ways in which you were otherwise occupied.” It boggles Kylo to think that after centuries of engaging in one lustful night after another, Hux never seems to be satiated. In a way, it’s enviable, the pleasure that he continues to reap from his responsibilities. Kylo often wonders whether the men and women who offer themselves as objects for Hux’s pleasure do so as part of their bargain, but his brother is undeniably charming and doesn’t need to resort to that level of laziness.

Unless the idea of the mortals’ submission for his pleasure is also attractive. Which Kylo wouldn’t put past Hux, either.

“I was just tired. Dad sent another batch of prospects to recruit. Thought I’d get a head start on it today.” He turns his attention to his laptop. Any hope that Hux would take the hint disappears once he hears the smooth swish of satin fabric.

“Do you mind?” Kylo grouses as Hux deposits his derriere on the corner of Kylo’s desk, peering at the screen.

“Not at all,” Hux replies, thankfully cinching the belt of his little black robe tighter. He lets out a low whistle. “Damnation. Investment bankers, entrepreneurs, hospital administrators, real estate brokers, pre-school parents...the list of power-hungry New Yorkers is pretty impressive. How do you even choose?”

“Eenie, meenie, minie, moe?” At Hux’s arched brow, Kylo lifts his shoulders helplessly. “I mean, does it really matter? Even if I successfully defile everyone I target today, there’s still another billion waiting in the wings.”

Hux leans over, his green eyes narrowing as his delicate fingers fly over the touchpad. “Hmmm. First, _ I _ defile, Phasma befouls, and you corrupt. There’s a difference—subtle, perhaps, but a difference.” He hits the “up” arrow, causing the page to scroll upwards with alarming speed as he ignores Kylo’s exasperated annoyance. “Ahh. This one sounds interesting.”

Kylo shifts forward, squinting at the ledger. “Candidate number six hundred and sixty-six? Care to be any more predictable?”

“Predictable would have been candidate number sixty-nine.”

“You’re over five thousand years old, Hux. When are you going to act your age?”

“Never.” Hux hits the “print” button. When the printer spits out the completed profile, he hands it Kylo. “Such a gift, modern technology. Although I do miss the old days—the incomparable heft of fresh parchment. The headiness of mimeograph ink.” He takes a long breath in, eyes fluttering in delight. “Good times.”

Kylo wrangles the page from Hux’s hands, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’m only looking at this because I know you’ll never leave me alone otherwise. _ Bill F. Gore,” _ he recites.

Kylo’s prepared to memorize the details, although he’s sure it’s merely a variation of the thousands of prospects he’s seen in the year before. “Already has quite a bit of money...old money, apparently. Never married. Owns a chain of bookstores, and is owner to one of the most valuable rare book collections in the world. He...” Kylo can’t help but smirk at the irony, “he prizes his collection of old religious texts above everything else, but it looks like he’s missing a key one.” Kylo folds the paper carefully, putting it in his breast pocket as he looks at Hux. “Fine. I’ll admit, he’s not my typical client.”

“Excellent. Maybe this will do something to rid that bored expression off your face.”

**>oo<**

Bill F. Gore lives in a five-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. It has its very own elevator and nearly four thousand square feet of overpriced yet highly-coveted space overlooking Central Park. As he leads Kylo towards the southwest side of the apartment, it isn’t his stooped and shuffling gait, prominent brow, hooked nose, nor the whistling huffs he emits with each step that has Kylo so fascinated. Instead, it is the ferocity that lights up his otherwise rheumy green-blue eyes that captures Kylo’s attention.

“It’s taken me over fifty years to track down the _ Aionomica_,” Gore manages as he places a claw-like hand on a biometric sensor at the door. The keypad blinks, the neon yellow light underneath whirling several times until it finally turns green. “All I need now is the _ Rammahgon, _ and my collection of Jedi sacred texts will be complete.” He pushes against the heavy oak door, which opens softly as several overhead lights turn on in response.

Kylo barely holds back his expressions of surprise and admiration at the scene. Gore’s library is vast but organized, the various books and documents carefully stored away from the sunlight that filters in through a translucent shade in a corner that appears set aside for reading. A sleek wall panel tells him the thermohygrometer is set at 60 degrees Fahrenheit and 60 percent humidity while a faint hum suggests there’s a ventilatory mechanism that allows for the steady circulation of air. But more than that is the feel of _ magic _ that thrums through the room.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Gore observes. Despite the cragginess of his features, he manages to arch his grey brow elegantly and smirk.

“It’s…” Kylo takes a deep breath. Few places in the world contain this amount of knowledge and spiritual power, his own family’s libraries included. He feels it itching through his skin, begging to come out. “It’s impressive, Mr. Gore,” he hedges.

The old man actually lets out a laugh, although the sound is hampered by a paroxysm of coughing. _ “Impressive. _ I was hoping for something a bit more enthusiastic, but…” He draws himself up, managing to appear imposing despite his diminutive stature. His frailty and age seem to shed themselves with each progressive inch. “I have things here that the Library of Congress and the Vatican dream of possessing. I have texts that have only known a single owner before me.”

“Like I said. Impressive,” Kylo says, feigning nonchalance. There is something about Gore that unsettles him. He’s usually able to get a clear read of the people to whom he’s assigned, but something feels _ off _ about the entire situation. “Yet somehow, inadequate enough that you should seek out my services.”

“You came highly recommended,” Gore pouts.

The tightness in Kylo’s chest eases. Gore’s admission puts him on familiar ground, and he feels himself settling into the role of predator and prey. “And this book—”

Gore’s already thin lips compress further. Kylo sighs at the misstep. Sometimes, he wishes he had more of an academic inclination like Unamo or Hux, instead of focusing his attention on his physical prowess while growing up. “The _ Rammahgon _ is a _ text, _ Mr. Ren. If you need to be more precise about its physical form, then a collection of scrolls. _ Not _ a book.”

Kylo inclines his head and smiles. “My apologies.” For the first time, collecting Gore’s soul may not be a guaranteed thing. His annoyance at the mortal’s presumption is tempered by the lure of a challenge. “This _ text. _ Do you have any idea where it is? And how far are you willing to go to get it?”

“The answer to your first question is ‘yes,’ of course. And to your second—whatever it takes, Mr. Ren. This text...it is exceedingly rare, and the current owner has no idea what she possesses.”

_ She? _ Curiouser and curiouser. “But if that is the case, surely you have the means—your wealth and your name, for example—to make a fair offer?”

Gore’s expression is pinched. “What does one consider a fair offer for something that is priceless? To have both the _ Rammahgon _ and _ Aionomica _ in one’s hand is to possess the secrets of the universe. Of not only the nature of man, but of life and the world. No one has had both since they were stolen from the Jedi temple over fifteen hundred years ago. If I were to have them, they would be the crowning glory of my collection.”

“Who currently owns the _ Rammahgon, _ and what have you offered so far?”

A sneer curls the corners of Gore’s mouth. “I offered the equivalent of $11 million dollars seven months ago.”

There was no way Kylo could keep the shocked look off his face.

“Yes,” Gore says arrogantly. “Granted, it’s not the _ most _ that a book has ever sold for. But there are literally only a handful that have been exchanged for more than that, and it was only an opening offer. But the current owner wouldn’t even consider the discussion of its sale.”

“I thought you said she had no idea of it’s worth.”

“No. I said that she had no idea what she _ possessed. _ There is a difference, albeit a slight one. She knows that it is exceedingly rare and valuable, but she cannot begin to comprehend its meaning, nor the significance of its words.”

“If it’s the meaning of the text that you seek, surely the _ Rammahgon _has been transcribed, digitized. Could the previous owners have been so selfish as to withhold such knowledge from the rest of the world, if it is to benefit mankind?”

Gore stares at Kylo is disbelief. “Your ignorance is astounding,” he says, shaking his head. “The magic and worth of the _ Rammahgon _ lies not just in the actual words. It is in the scrolls themselves, as much as the text. It is in the age of the parchment...the pressure of the tools used to apply the ink, the hesitation of thoughts, the stains of the oils of its creator’s skin. It is the same energy as the magic that fills these walls, and something that cannot be ascertained by sight alone.”

Kylo’s grin spreads into Chesire-like proportions. “And your own arrogance and presumption, Mr. Gore, is undeniable. You’ve just told me you would do anything to obtain the scrolls. So, tell me: for the power of the Jedi, how much is my assistance worth to you?”

Gore’s eyes glitter with barely suppressed desire. “You would get the scrolls for me?”

Kylo falters.

“It is not as simple as that,” he says reluctantly. He’s learned from past experience that anything outside of his contract with Gore means there is no longer a simple and direct exchange between demon and mortal, but that his own powers will be further entwined with the mysterious third party. It is the reciprocity—the exchange of energy with an unknown entity—that causes him to hesitate. “I cannot take it for you directly. Rather, I would give you the tools to be successful in their purchase.”

Gore’s eyes widen in surprise. “Surely, you jest,” he says and wheezes out another laugh before sputtering, as if his chest and throat are rebelling against such disuse. “I have money, reputable connections, seats on charities and a university’s board. Don’t you think I’ve already exhausted all those possibilities before I sought your help?” He advances towards Kylo, somehow threatening despite his physical frailty.

“Oh, yes. I can see it in your eyes. I _ know _ who you are, Mr. Ren. The study of religion and spirituality are my passion, after all. I am very much aware of your price, and I am willing to pay it—to sign away my soul, yours for the taking once my body is no longer of this Earth—in exchange for your assistance.

“You see, the current owner apparently has a sentimental attachment to the scrolls. She refuses to sell, even though they lie unused, unloved, unlearned, and unappreciated. I, on the other hand, will rectify such inattention once they are in my possession. For this, Mr. Ren—and for the knowledge of future generations—I will gladly sign over that which you require.”

Kylo takes out the contract. There is no moment of question, no hesitation as Gore whips out a pen and signs on the dotted line without even glancing at the fine print.

The uneasiness that’s been growing in Kylo’s belly amplifies ten-fold.

“Here it is,” Gore says. His smile is unnerving as he hands over the contract before the ink has even dried. Kylo waves his hand, once to age the document and then once more to send it to his vault. “And now, I have something for you.” Gore shuffles over to a desk drawer and pulls out a small card.

Kylo stares at Gore’s spidery script.

“That, Mr. Ren, is the name and address of the soon-to-be, previous owner of the _ Rammahgon_. I suggest you give Miss Rey Jackson a call.”**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo’s fingers curl around the crisp edges of the card that Gore had given him. His eyes dart to the northeast corner of the room—_she sits in her favorite spot with a 12-oz Americano with no sugar and a splash of milk at 10 AM every day,_ Gore said—and Kylo feels the breath knocked out of his lungs when his gaze finally locks on his target.

###  **CHAPTER 2**

Perhaps the only things as ubiquitous as skyscrapers and traffic in Manhattan are the coffee shops on every corner. It’s strange that Kylo can feel at ease commanding his prey in a fifty-fourth floor boardroom, or ordering a fifty-dollar cup of Wush Wush coffee in the cool environs at Eleven Madison Park, but so out of place in a setting where mismatched, overstuffed and oversized chairs are as part of the decor as the hoodie-wearing, twenty-somethings that occupy them.

The smell of roasted coffee beans, a bit chocolatey and nutty, warms the interior of The Java Hut. Despite its mundane name, there’s nothing boring about it. Stripped of the pretentious, sugar-saturated, and overpriced offerings that are so prevalent in similar establishments, it flaunts its bare-bones and homey roots. There’s no acoustic guitar-laden, indie warbling, and it’s both incredibly welcoming as well as a blatant “F you” to corporate greed.

Kylo’s fingers curl around the crisp edges of the card that Gore had given him. His eyes dart to the northeast corner of the room_—she sits in her favorite spot with a 12-oz Americano with no sugar and a splash of milk at 10 AM every day, _ Gore said—and Kylo feels the breath knocked out of his lungs when his gaze finally locks on his target.

Rey Jackson is not some eighty-year-old female version of Gore, as he suspected, nor is she some emo undergrad layered in black leather and kohl, like those scattered around them. Her brown hair is gathered in a messy bun that’s drooping halfway down her head, causing a large portion of it to slip from the scrunchie that’s making a valiant effort to wrangle her mane into something sensible as a mini-bun grows underneath it instead. Her nose is upturned, and it twitches as her lips draw into a frown, her teeth chewing on the cap of her pen furiously. She’s lean but not thin, neither short nor tall, her face free of any makeup save for the pair of glasses that she pushes up the bridge of her nose repeatedly. If all her features were classified individually, she might have even been considered pleasant or average. But as the rays of light filter in through the side window, they light up the myriad of honey tones in her hair, intensifying the glow of her skin, the smattering of freckles which dust her nose, and the intelligence and intensity of her hazel gaze, and Kylo realizes that she’s absolutely stunning.

He tucks the card back into the safety of his pocket, his hand suddenly clammy. He strides over, startled when he nearly trips over his feet.

_ Get a hold of yourself, Ren. You're five thousand years old, and you’ve defeated the greatest of the angels. _

He clears his throat once he’s standing in front of her. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair. He pastes on a smile, hoping the effort doesn’t make him appear suspicious or worse, constipated.

Rey looks up. The glasses slip down her nose; she peers over the rim with a slight air of annoyance. “It’s not occupied,” she says as her eyes dart around the mostly-empty room.

Kylo ignores the less-than-cordial welcome as he slides into the chair. It’s a bit too soft for his liking, and the well-worn cushions sink under his size, making him cross his legs awkwardly. He’s less than thirty seconds into their interaction, and he already feels on edge.

It’s unnerving. More than that, it’s _ exhilarating. _

“Do you make it a habit of frequenting coffee shops to check out the seating arrangements or to observe the clientele?” Rey asks, startling Kylo from his musings.

“Neither,” he says with a laugh, admiring her spunk.

She gestures at his empty hands, noticeably free of a pastry or drink. “Killing time?”

Kylo shakes his head in amusement. “I wish I had the luxury. Actually, I’m here on business.” He leans forward as her eyes grow wary, their cautious nature slipping away into something much more guarded. “And my business, Rey Jackson, has to do with you.”

She snaps the cover of her laptop shut. “I don’t know who you are, but—”

“My apologies.” Kylo shifts back slightly. Rey wears her distrust like a mantle; she doesn’t seem to be the type of person who will offer him anything spontaneously but she hasn’t kicked him out yet, so he treads with caution to avoid any missteps. “My name is Kylo. Kylo Ren.”

“And you, Mr. Ren, with your thousand dollar suit and hundred dollar haircut, just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

Kylo lifts a brow at that. “You have no idea the neighborhoods I’ve been to, Ms. Jackson. Though you’re right; our meeting is hardly a coincidence.”

Rey lets out a small sigh as she blows a stray wisp of hair off her forehead. “If it’s about the loan, I should have the next payment by the 20th.” Her face scrunches up adorably, and as her eyes flick down to her coffee, Kylo can practically hear the gears turning as if she’s trying to figure out how to make ends meet.

If Rey is strapped for cash, then parting with the scrolls should be easy. For the right price. In a way, he’s a bit disappointed that their meeting will be over as quickly as it started.

“I’m not with the bank if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m here on behalf of my client—a Mr. Bill F. Gore?”

All pretense of politeness dissolves in a flash. “I’m not interested,” Rey grits out as she takes her laptop and shoves it angrily in her bag. “I don’t care how many people he sends my way, or how much money you throw at my feet. The scrolls are not for sale.”

Confusion washes over Kylo’s face. “What do you mean by ‘how many people he sends my way?’”

Rey huffs, looking at him in disbelief. “You’re the third person who’s approached me about the scrolls this week.”

Kylo’s brow furrows; he can’t imagine Gore contacting Rey without a cavalcade of lawyers and an iron-clad contract. Plus, Gore never mentioned sending anyone else in his stead, and so recently to boot. “Who else approached you?”

Rey answers with a perfect imitation of his arched brow. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Mr. Ren.”

Kylo barely holds back a growl. “If someone else is in competition with my client, then it _ is _ my business.”

“Let me put it to you plainly. There could be two, or twenty, or two-hundred people who are interested. It doesn’t matter, because my answer would still be the same. The. Scrolls. Are. Not. For. Sale,” she finishes, jabbing the tip of her index finger against the table.

“Everything and everyone has a price, Ms. Jackson.”

“Some things don’t.” Sadness creeps into Rey’s eyes, the gold-flecked green of her irises turning murky. “Perhaps if things can be bought and sold, they aren’t worth as much as once thought.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted something so much, you’d do just about anything to have it?”

“Things worth keeping have a richness greater than any monetary value,” she says softly.

“Try me.”

Rey gives him a look that’s almost pitying. “If you can’t understand, there’s nothing more that we need to speak about.” She stands, the legs of her chair screeching across the floor in her haste as she slings her messenger bag over her shoulder. “And here I was, thinking that I’d avoid the commuter crowds this morning. My mistake. Have a good day, Mr. Ren.”

**>oo<**

“Oh my god. Do I need to get a restraining order?”

It’s five o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, nine days after Rey Jackson has become something more than just a footnote in Kylo’s life—an infuriatingly obstinate, unpredictable, beautiful, and challenging one currently watching him with barely repressed anger on a New York City street.

“You haven’t returned any of my messages.”

“I told you before, I’m not selling the scrolls. There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Don’t you think it’s better to hear what is being offered before turning it down? ‘Knowledge is power,’ and all that?”

_ “Wise men learn by others’ harms; fools by their own.'_I don’t need to enter an agreement with someone like you or your employer to predict the things he’s done in the past.”

Kylo moves to the side as a dogwalker dragged down the block by a large Shiba Inu tries to move around him. “Mr. Gore is not my _ employer,” _ he says indignantly, before realizing his near-faux pas. He’s not sure why it’s important that Rey understand he’s not under the thumb of some mere mortal. “We have intersecting interests,” he hedges. “But we’re hardly the same person.”

The corners of Rey’s lips quirk despite her irritation. “You’re not even the same person you were last week, Mr. Ren.” She gestures at his hoodie and worn jeans and trainers. “It’s a nice touch, your attempt at being relatable. Though you’d probably be better off with a pair of Chuck Taylors instead of some Gucci Screeners.”

Kylo spreads out his hands in mock surrender. “Are you telling me that the lovely salesperson at a ridiculously overpriced store took advantage of my ignorance? See what happens when we’re not armed with the knowledge to make the proper decisions?”

For a second, Rey’s face twists like she’s caught between rolling her eyes and holding back a laugh. In the end, she settles for a long sigh, although to Kylo’s relief, it’s punctuated with a tiny grin. “Touché, Mr. Ren.”

The warmth that floods through him upon seeing her genuine smile loosens his tongue. “Half an hour of your time,” he pleads. “If you still refuse, I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

Rey’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Ten.”

Kylo scoffs. “Make it twenty, and I’ll throw in dinner. Your diet seems to consist of whatever sweets they serve at the Java Hut and the slop at the Cantina.”

“Okay, stalker much?” Kylo raises his brow and Rey’s shoulders droop. “Yeah, yeah. Knowledge is power, know thine enemy. I get it.”

“I don’t want to be your enemy, Rey.”

She gives him a pointed look that lets him know she doesn’t quite believe him. “Fine, Ren. I want a burger...medium rare, with truffle fries and a chocolate shake at the diner on the corner. Your twenty minutes start now.”

**>oo<**

Kylo’s jaw drops as Rey squeezes the cylinder of ketchup, a massive dollop of the overly-sweet, bright-red condiment painting her plate before she swipes at it with a handful of fries.

“What?” she asks, seemingly oblivious to the fact that half of her side is now gone while her burger remains untouched.

Kylo shakes his head. “Nothing...well, except for the fact that most people order fries to go _ with _their burger, not the other way around.”

“I’m not ‘most people,’” she mutters through the remaining mouthful before swallowing. “Besides, I’m going to eat it all, anyway. What difference does it make what order I do it in?”

“It…” Kylo lets out a huff. He’s used to arguing the merits of pleasure and fulfillment on earth versus the theoretical benefits of ‘good’ behavior in the long haul. He’s not used to dealing with mundane discussions of digestion, especially from someone who is a mass of contradictions—someone who eats in the moment to enjoy what she has, and who looks at a pile of deep-fried potatoes sticks like it rivals the finest Ossetra caviar, yet who refrains from the security of the easy life a ridiculous amount of money could afford her. “I guess it doesn’t,” he concedes.

Rey frowns as she lifts up the edge of her hamburger bun. It tilts on the side as she picks up the ketchup bottle once more, attacking the patty vigorously as if it’s done her a great disservice. “You act like it’s a sin,” she grouses after she releases the bottle and sets it down, the deformed plastic side shuddering in protest.

Kylo lets out a low chuckle. “You have no idea.”

“So enlighten me, then, Mr. Ren—”

“Kylo. Please.”

“Fine. Kylo.” He can’t fight the grin as she bites out his name, as if she’s disappointed in caving in to him for just this little bit. She digs into her burger, and Kylo finds himself holding his breath as the juice collects at the corner of her mouth and she swipes at it with her tongue. “I’m curious; you’ve obviously done your research. Knowing that I’ve turned down Mr. Gore’s repeated offers, what makes you think this would be anything different?”

“My client can be obstinate. A bit rough.”

“So you’re the smooth one in this scenario?” She stops eating for a moment and takes in his outfit, then goes back to her dinner. “You should know that a charming appearance doesn’t mean you’re any less sharp.”

Kylo leans forward, unable to hold back a wolfish smile. “You think I’m charming? I’m touched.”

Rey puts down her nearly-eaten burger and takes a long sip of her blue milkshake through its oversized straw, the drawn out action causing her pinkened cheeks to hollow. “I was speaking hypothetically,” she counters after placing her glass down with a definitive thump.

“Honestly, ‘rhetorically’ in this situation is probably more accurate.”

The thin, unhappy line that’s occupied her mouth for most of the meal dissipates, and she graces him with a genuine smile. “For someone who should be buttering me up, you’re doing a shit job.”

“What can I say?” Kylo asks with a small shrug. “I like a challenge.” It’s one of the truest things he’s said to her so far, but the ease with which he slides into this natural, near honesty is a bit shocking.

“Well, for someone who likes a challenge you haven’t made much headway,” Rey teases.

Someone bumps into Kylo’s upper arm. He turns around quickly, surprised to see a woman who could pass for someone’s sweet and slightly eccentric grandmother at his side.

“Speaking of not making any headway, you’ve barely touched your meal while your lovely companion is nearly done.”

Rey’s face colors. “Uh...we’re just _ dining _ companions, Maz. Nothing more.”

Maz nods dubiously. “Sure thing, hon. If you say so.”

Kylo looks at his bowl of chili. It’s thick, hearty, and loaded with enough peppers and spices to warrant its very own warning label. “It’s no indication of your cooking. I merely found myself distracted by the scenery.” Kylo digs in enthusiastically as the delicious blush creeps further up Rey’s neck.

“Careful there,” Maz warns. “That’s my five-alarm special.”

“The hotter, the better,” Kylo grins. “I live for danger.”

Maz gives him a considering look as he wolfs down an entire spoonful without shedding a single tear. “Huh. Balls of steel, that one.”

“Actually, I’m trying to salvage my pride by waiting for you to leave so I can drink the rest of that,” Kylo says, eyes tearing as he points to Rey’s blue milkshake and mimes putting out the fire in his mouth.

Rey grabs the shake and boxes it between her arms strategically. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before you get this away from me.”

Maz gives Kylo a wink. “Rey’s generous to a fault, except when it comes to her food.”

Rey adopts a put upon expression. “It’s true. Nothing comes between me and Maz’s burgers. You’d probably have a better chance of getting those scrolls.”

Maz whips around, her demeanor shifting in the span of a second. She peers at Kylo over the rim of her oversized, coke-bottle glasses; there’s a part of him that feels overly-exposed, as if she can see past the mask of his casual appearance and everyman’s meal and know who he really is.

“Hmmph,” she says, still staring. “Interesting.”

Then again, perhaps she’s just a bit dotty.

“Um, Maz? We’ll have another one of your delicious milkshakes for Kylo,” Rey prods gently.

“Chocolate,” Kylo clarifies. He’s definitely not a “blue” kind of guy.

Maz tuts, then leans over to Rey. “Careful. Things that look delicious at first can leave you with a bellyache afterward,” she says in a loud whisper.

When Maz finally leaves, Kylo pushes his bowl to the side and leans towards Rey. “She’s not going to put anything poisonous in it, is she?”

Rey laughs, the sound warming something deep inside Kylo’s chest. “Maz is a straight-shooter. If she were to poison you, there’d be no question of her intention since she’d open the bottle and spoon-feed it to you herself.” She takes the last fry off her plate; there’s not much ketchup left, but she swipes at the streaks until they’ve disappeared. “This has been a strange week,” she sighs. “I know that the scrolls are valuable, but there’s been unusual interest in them this week. It’s been a little unsettling.”

“The scrolls are rare, but not priceless. And I’m on a mission to prove it.”

“Why are you so interested in them?” Rey’s tone is neutral, yet judgment lingers in the air.

“I…” Kylo thinks back to what Gore told him, of the conventional wisdom regarding their value and all their academic and spiritual merits. In the end, he opts for the truth instead. “I’m not interested in the scrolls themselves.”

“Oh.” Rey sucks in a deep breath before deflating. “That’s...your honesty is surprisingly refreshing. Though the actual answer is highly disappointing.”

The quiet rebuke hurts him more than it should. “Though it might seem cold to you, I would not ask you to consider Gore’s offer if I thought it was without merit, or that the scrolls wouldn’t receive the appreciation they deserve.”

“How did he solicit your services? Are you personally acquainted?”

Kylo hesitates. “I’m in the acquisition business.”

“Of rare books?”

“Of things that are one-of-a-kind.”

Rey finally drops her gaze. “What an interesting occupation.”

“It’s my family’s business. Has been, for a very long time.” Her silence at his words grows, and there’s a budding desperation welling up inside him at the implied censure. “Would you prefer that I cheat? Ply you with sweet wine and even sweeter lies? Or present you with a contingency, one that you’d be hard-pressed to refuse?”

“To cheat...to prey on the sensitivities or weaknesses of others is to deny your own humanity.”

“I am not a monster, Rey. Though you may see our purposes at odds with one another, I swear that I have no intention of swindling you. I just want to broker a transaction that would be satisfying for both you and Mr. Gore.”

Rey closes her eyes; there’s a faint prickle of unease at the base of Kylo’s neck, a wariness that grows until Rey’s eyes fly open in unabashed surprise. “You mean that,” she says, her mouth parting into an ‘O.’ “Although I sense it is not completely the truth.” She purses her lips, her expressive face unable to hide her warring thoughts. “To have the scrolls in my possession is both an honor and a burden,” she says softly. “They were given to me by someone who was very dear. He was not only my teacher but someone who allowed me to see the value in myself. It was through him that I understood that I didn’t need to adhere to the societal constructs of a family in order to have one.”

“I see…”

Rey reaches towards him, but then must think the better of it. Her hand drops, and the heated promise of her touch makes Kylo itch to bridge the gap. “Do you? Because if so, you’d then know why there’s virtually no chance of me ever selling the _ Rammahgon. _I would never do so for money—I’ve been offered enough money by Mr. Gore as well as others that I could live quite comfortably, indulge in my passions without limit, perhaps even make a few questionable life decisions.” Her voice bobbles a bit, the sweet, husky undertone of it finally cracking. “Such as spending company with someone who might as well be the devil himself, just to have a free dinner.”

“Is that the only reason you agreed?” Kylo asks, the idea of being relegated to a free meal somehow wounding him.

“Fishing for compliments, Kylo? I didn’t think that people with money to burn and looks like yours needed their egos so stroked.”

Kylo puffs up at the maybe-flirtation. “Trust me,” he grins. “It’s not my ego that needs to be stroked.”

A glass thuds down in front of him. “Hopefully this will put out some of that fire,” Maz declares, not looking the least bit contrite as several droplets splatter down the sides of the glass and onto the table. She angles her chin towards the massive clock that hangs above the grill, its face barely visible underneath a film of grease. “It’s nearly 6:30, Rey. Aren’t you going to be late?”

“What?” Rey whips around, spluttering a bit before she’s grabbing at her bag and shoving it over her shoulder. “Oh my god, I can’t be late! I’m supposed to be covering for Finn tonight.” She stands and looks down at Kylo apologetically. “I volunteer at the Bogden Chapter House.”

“Wait...so when you said you only had twenty minutes for dinner, you meant it?”

“A good excuse is a good excuse, even if it’s a truthful one,” she grins.

“Afraid you might find my company too irresistible?”

Rey gives him another eye-roll, but this time, there’s almost a fondness behind it. “Thanks for dinner, Kylo. And...for what it’s worth, this was a lot more fun than I expected.” She scurries out the door, the bottom of her bag banging against her hip.

“Shame,” Maz muses as Kylo stares at the door. “Volunteering every night at the youth center as she does, it’s no wonder she doesn’t have much time for a personal life.”

“Every night?” Kylo echoes blankly.

Maz nods. “Mondays through Fridays. 6:30 until 10.”

The guarded trust Maz has in him despite her earlier reservations is oddly touching. “Thanks, Maz.”

Maz’s fingers wrap around his shoulder, their pressure a firm warning. “One more thing, young man. Hurt Rey, and I promise that poison would be the more merciful of your options.”

Kylo picks up his chocolate shake and tilts it at Maz in a mock toast.

**>oo<**

“Father wants to know if you’ve given any thought to where we’re going to relocate in 2050, Kylo,” Hux says distractedly. He thumbs through the morning’s mail, binning over half of the correspondence before placing the rest on the side table. “There’s something wrong with the world when even the supernatural are subject to the atrocities of junk mail.”

“The world is in chaos, and you’re worried about some extra letters.”

Hux leans against the table and cocks his hip. “First...you and I, and the rest of our family had a huge hand in creating that chaos. Be proud of your accomplishments, for once. Second, nice deflection, but you forgot who you’re dealing with. Having handled lust and desire for as long as I have, I know all too well the lengths people go through to deflect and deceive.”

Kylo groans and scrubs the hair back from his forehead. “Tell Dad I’ll let him know by 2030 at the latest.”

“Pretty please, baby brother, can it be somewhere warm?” Hux asks, his eyes flashing with mirth.

“Given your ice-cold heart, are you sure it won’t melt?”

“We did live in Hell for several hundred years. Besides, warmer climates mean skimpier clothes and a serotonin boost. Both of which makes my job that much easier.”

“Hmmm. How does Patagonia sound?”

_“¡Qué horror!_ You’d do that, wouldn’t you? Make me give up the beach _ and _ a cosmopolitan setting? Make my job that much harder?” Hux shudders. “You’re worse than I thought. I quite admire you.”

“Working harder might make the outcome more meaningful,” Kylo says, his mind filled with thoughts of Rey.

Hux throws up his hands. “Not this again. Look, you’re coming out with me to the Hamptons for the weekend. It’s a feeding ground for sex and avarice, wealth and greed and covetous behavior. We can combine business and pleasure.”

“As tempting as it sounds, the answer is ‘no,’” Kylo grunts. “I have plans.”

Hux arches a brow. “Plans for a Friday night? Do tell.” He pushes himself off the side of the table and saunters next to Kylo. “Do you need my help with anyone in particular?”

Kylo opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. The thought of influencing Rey in that manner leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Moreover, he feels oddly protective, unwilling to sully their fledgling_...relationship, _ for lack of a better word, any more than he has to.

“I can manage well enough on my own,” he says, hoping Hux will let go of the subject. He can be dogged about certain things, especially if it has anything to do with Kylo’s practically non-existent love life. “Now tell me: what have you been doing to address the puritanical stance that’s been adopted on certain social media platforms lately?”

Kylo breathes a sigh of relief when Hux grows increasingly animated and launches into a discussion of the freedom of sexual exploration, censorship and his plans for some of the bigwigs at Apple and Tumblr.

**>oo<**

“I’m sorry, dude, but we can’t just let anyone walk in off the street and help out, you know? If you’re really interested in volunteering, you can fill out an application and drop it off during main office hours, from nine to five.”

The guy manning the table near the door looks so energetic and earnest, it makes Kylo’s mood just that more foul. “I…” He takes a look at the nametag on the man’s chest, written in a bright orange marker. “Look, _ Poe, _ I just need to talk to Rey. It’s important.”

Poe swings his gaze towards the center of the room. Rey is sitting with a girl who looks to be no older than six; her glasses are sliding halfway down her nose, and the child reaches out with a grubby hand and pushes them back up. They’re now in place, but even from this distance, Kylo can see a smudged handprint all over the lenses. Rey, of course, seems to be thanking the girl while being rewarded with a beatific smile.

Poe’s thick brows draw down the middle as he looks at Kylo. “Are you…?” He places two fingers in his mouth, shocking Kylo when he lets out a piercing whistle. “Hey, Jackson! You’ve got a visitor!”

“Kylo?” Shock falls over Rey’s face. She whispers something in the girl’s ear, which causes the child to look over at Kylo and squeal, then makes her way over to where Kylo and Poe are standing.

“Nice, Dameron,” she says, nudging Poe in the shoulder. “After we’ve been telling everyone that the correct way to get someone’s attention is _ not _ by yelling.”

“Sorry,” Poe says sheepishly. “Technically, though, I didn’t yell. Besides, I couldn’t just leave some stranger standing here, unattended.” He jerks a thumb towards Kylo. “Says he’s here to see you. Didn’t want to make a scene in front of the kiddos, but maybe the next time you guys have a lover’s quarrel, hash it out and make up somewhere private? It’s much more fun that way.”

Rey’s face colors a pretty shade of pink. “That’s...oh my god, Poe, that’s _ so _ not what’s going on here.”

“Oh. I just assumed, I mean, he seemed hell-bent on seeing you. You did well, Jackson,” he adds, his eyes raking up and down Kylo appreciatively.

Even Rey’s ears are pink when she spies Kylo’s pleased expression. “You’re totally missing the mark. There’s no way in hell a guy wearing thousand dollar sneakers has anything in common with someone like me.”

Kylo sticks out a foot, clad in a pair of Chuck Taylor combat boots. “These are nice, but they’re hardly a thousand dollars.”

“Nice,” Poe says as Kylo angles the footwear back and forth for his inspection.

“You can get them for under a hundred bucks online,” Kylo adds with a grin. He’s forever grateful to Mitaka and the miracle of express shipping.

“Is that your boyfriend, Miss Jackson?” someone asks. A roomful of heads turn towards the door, followed by a chorus of _ “oooohs” _ and wolf-whistles.

Rey breaks into a devious grin. “No, Hope. This is Mr. Ren. He’s here to help out tonight.”

“I’ll help out for the entire year if you give me what I want,” Kylo mutters under his breath. Although, he realizes, not quietly enough, because it’s met by another chorus of _ “oooohs,” _ this time from the older children.

“We are definitely _ not _ talking about that here,” Rey hisses. She grabs a hold of his hand and leads him around a winding maze of tables and toys as Poe shrugs, giving them an amused look.

Kylo’s nostrils flare and he feels a bit queasy. The walls smell faintly of bleach and antiseptic, layered over the sweat and sticky sweetness of summer and kids.

“I’m not great with children,” he mutters as they approach Rey’s table. Sin comes in all forms and sizes, but those who covet power generally run a bit older. A girl with dark hair rivaling the shade of his own bounces up and down as her body wriggles in her seat with excitement.

“Think of it as payback for stalking me at my place of work.”

A scowl settles on Kylo’s face. “I wasn’t exactly stalking. All I got from dinner was heartburn and a price placed on my head by Maz.”

The child looks up curiously. “Why does the man have a price on his head, Miss Rey? Is he for sale?”

“No, darling. People aren’t for sale, despite what some may think. It’s an expression that...um, means…”

Kylo squats down. It’s extremely difficult, given his size, and the fact that the table and seat upon which the child sits is about a third of his height. “It means that I was told to be on my best behavior when it comes to Miss Rey, or else someone would be very angry at me.”

“Like a time out?”

Rey nods, seemingly relieved by the explanation. “Like a time out. Sarah, this gentleman’s name is Kylo.”

Sarah squints up at Kylo, her intelligent eyes roaming over his face. When he apparently meets her approval, she sticks out her hand for him to shake. “Hi, Kylo.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah.” He takes her small hand in his and has to refrain from wincing at the stickiness.

“It was Jared’s birthday today,” Rey explains, barely hiding her laughter. “We celebrated by having cake. Sarah’s a bit partial to the frosting.”

“Jared’s ten!” Sarah whispers. “Soon, he’ll be as old as you!”

“Yes. He will be a grown up, soon enough.”

“Sarah,” Rey nudges. “Would you like Mr. Kylo to join our game?”

Sarah bites her lower lip and lets out a huff. “Dunno. Do you cheat?” Before Kylo can think of an appropriate response, she barrels ahead. “Because Cindy cheats _ all the time, _ and Miss Rey says that it doesn’t pay to cheat. She says that people who cheat and win don’t actually win, and I understand that I guess but I’d still rather not play with you if you’re a cheater.”

Kylo holds up his hand. “I promise that I won’t.”

Sarah’s lower lip sticks out a bit further. She scuffs her shoe against the floor, then looks Kylos square in the eye. _ “‘That I won’t cheat.’” _

Smart kid. He’s going to have to look out for her in the future. “I promise _ that I won’t cheat,” _ he amends as the corners of Rey’s lips quirk.

If anything, the declaration makes Sarah scowl further. “In Go-Fish.”

“In..._ what?” _ he asks out of the side of his mouth.

“Go-Fish,” Rey says, her grin wide enough to split her face.

“In Go-Fish,” Kylo agrees. “In fact, if you find out I’ve been cheating, I give you permission to spank me.”

Sarah shakes her head vigorously. “Nuh-uh. Miss Rey says that spankings are bad, no matter what the other person is thinking.”

Kylo arches a brow. “Shame,” he says just under his breath, not loudly enough for Sarah to hear, but just enough for Rey’s ears to go pink.

*****

An hour and a half later, Kylo finds himself with an entirely too-giddy Rey walking down the street.

“I’m telling you, underneath that cherubic exterior lies the stealth and ruthlessness of a cold-blooded card shark.”

“You’re just upset that Sarah won five hands in a row, fair and square.”

“It was definitely not ‘fair and square,’ and who mentioned anything about Sarah?” Kylo asks, trying but failing to make his tone threatening. “I was talking about _ you.” _

“Moi?” Rey bats her eyelashes at him. The light from the street lamps cast a warm glow across the curve of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, while the rest of her visage is muted in shadow. “Now Mr. Ren, whatever gave you that impression?”

“Besides the fact that Sarah repeatedly asked for specific cards after you dropped shameless hints?” He nudges Rey against her shoulder as they keep on walking, a nice distraction from her gaze, which grows more open and trusting by the second. “Nice memory, by the way. I do hope you know that counting cards is generally considered cheating, even in a kiddie game.”

Rey has the grace to look momentarily ashamed. “Sarah…” Air whistles out between her lips as she lets out a sigh. “Sarah’s living with her third foster family in four years. Her last family...they took her stipend and spent it on themselves and their biological children. The one before that had a college-aged son who was later discovered to be verbally abusive.”

A fury wells up inside Kylo as he thinks of Sarah’s sweet and determined face. “And now?”

Rey smiles sadly. “And she’s been with her current family for several months now. And it seems...okay. Happy, even. But do you know how many of the others started out that way?”

“I’m guessing all?”

Rey nods. “I just want Sarah to experience some happiness, as small as it may be. To feel like a winner; to come out on top, for once. It wasn’t like I was placing the cards in her hands; I was just...guiding her in a particular direction.”

Kylo gives her a look of disbelief.

“All right,” she laughs. “Fine. It _ might _have been cheating.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger. “A tiny bit."

“I thought cheaters who win don’t really win? Or that to cheat was to deny one’s humanity?'"

“Well, I guess sometimes the price is worth it,” Rey concedes.

“See? Everything _ does _ have a price,” Kylo reminds her with a gentle smile.

“You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“Never pretended to be anything but.” He clears his throat, then glances at her from the corner of his eye. “I had fun tonight.”

“And you didn’t even bring up the scrolls until now.”

“Are you saying that I’m usually ‘all work and no play,’ Ms. Jackson?”

Several blocks down, a group of teens shout as they attempt to hail a cab that’s rounding the corner, the sounds of their shoes against the pavement echoing through the otherwise empty street. It’s unusually quiet for 10:30 on a Friday night, but most of the college students are back home for the summer while others have fled the city for the weekend.

Rey stops. “I have a feeling you play as hard as you work,” she says, her entire face amused.

They’re so close now, Kylo can feel the heat thrumming between them, the air thickening with possibility and want. “Rey, I…”

She waves a hand in front of his face. “Shhh. We were having such a good night. Don’t ruin it now.”

Kylo thinks that this is it, that she’s about to give him a smile and walk away. But like everything else about her, Rey is nothing if not surprising. She takes a step forward, close enough that he can smell the light citrus of her soap, see the shine left over after she licks her lips, feel the strand of her hair that ruffles against the summer breeze, and hear the intake of her breath as she leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth.

The rush of emotions from the barely-there kiss has Kylo weak in his knees, his mouth betraying his surprise in an embarrassing whimper.

“Did I read this wrong?” she asks tentatively, taking a step back.

“Not at all,” Kylo stutters. He reaches out, his thumb caressing the sweep of her jaw before winding its way around to the nape of her neck. She leans into his touch, her head angling upwards as he kisses her fully on the mouth.

A possessiveness flares deep within him. He craves her—wants to _ mark _ her, to own her with a ferocity that rivals Hux’s most potent lust potions, but she meets him for every measure, as if she’s feeling every aching movement with equal fervor.

His hands run down the gentle curve of her waist to settle along her hip. He draws her nearer, his thigh pressing against her hip, and it’s the soft moan that she utters, carried by the weight of his name that causes his guilt to well up. He hasn’t _ lied _ to her, per se; at face value, it might even be considered less of a transgression than her admission of cheating. But his omission about who he truly is—and her resultant assumption—feels _ wrong. _ Because he knows that with each passing second, with the way she’s melting against him, the heels of her hands splayed against his chest, the lines of her body so pliant, that she _ wants _ him.

The realization should make him ecstatic. But she’s falling for someone who she imagines to be better than he truly is.

He tamps down his rusty conscience. Right now, he’s allowing himself this—to savor the sweetness of her lips, to lose himself in the raspiness of her tongue as she slowly licks inside his mouth, to exalt at the way her fingers dig more deeply into the fabric of his shirt, as if she never wants to let go. He wants to return it tenfold—to devour every inch of her body, to cherish her spirit, to uncover her secrets and challenge her mind, for as long as she’ll allow him.

He’s fucked others before—at five thousand years, he’s in the prime of his youth, with healthy sexual desires despite what his cad of a brother might think—but no one’s ever made him want to stay more than a night or two. He’s never wanted to see them smile, not from some post-coital satisfaction but from true happiness.

Not one has ever made his heart soar, the lub-dub sounds pulsating in tune with a mantra that is new but so right and familiar. His blood hums, his heart beats to the rhythm of _ Rey, Rey, Rey. _ Its unfamiliarity of it makes him giddy with the uncertainty of the unknown.

And it’s glorious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo lets out a frustrated growl. He wants her... _fuck,_ does he wants her, but he can’t like this, not now.
> 
> “Lazarus, no. It’s not that.” He bites out the answer, hating the idea that Rey could even think that he wouldn’t want to get to know every inch of her. He pulls her back down onto his lap, keeping his touch soft as he rubs a soothing circle along her bare hip. “Rey, I was sent to you for one specific purpose.”
> 
> Her eyes shutter and lips twist into something bitterly disappointed. “This is about the _Rammahgon,_ isn’t it? ”
> 
> “Yes. And no.” Kylo lets out a long breath at her infuriated glare. “You’re too good for me,” he admits, barely audible.

###  **CHAPTER 3**

_ Fuck. _ The light’s all wrong—much too bright, as if he’s forgotten to draw the shades, and there’s something sticking into the side of his hip. Kylo rolls over, his mouth gaping at the noises his mattress makes, his confusion growing greater as his legs become entangled in a flurry of sheets and he exchanges the lumpy bedding for the hardness of the floor instead.

The resultant “thump” only serves to amplify his embarrassment and the pounding in his head.

“Kylo?”

He startles as the blurred surroundings—the nubby fabric of a three-seater couch that’s seen better days; a small, but newer model flat-screen TV; and a coffee table that looks more IKEA than Pottery Barn come into focus. Perhaps he’s been staring around him a bit too long, because Rey hesitates at the entrance to the room, her chest heaving. Her hair is loosely gathered into a bun that tilts dangerously to the left, reminding him of their first meeting at the Java Hut.

She’s also got a spot of something greasy across her cheek. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” she asks as she wipes her hands along the hem of her faded half-apron. Her eyes travel lower as if to assess the damage, but her face turns a bright red as she snaps them back up and stammer something unintelligible.

Kylo frowns as he follows her gaze down to where her eyes had lingered. His torso is bare, and—aside from his underwear—his legs are covered by the mess of sheets. It’s not like she can see much from where she stands, and definitely not his ass and legs which bore the brunt of his descent, aside from his chest and abs, or the outline of his—

_ Oh. _

“Morning,” he rasps. He clears his throat, unable to hide his cheeky grin.

“Morning.” The dull flush recedes slowly from her skin, but she’s still having a hard time meeting his direct gaze. The knowledge makes him preen, and he discovers that his day is miraculously better. “Um...not to be a total ass, but did we—?” he winces.

“No,” she answers quickly. “We watched _ Suspicion, _ polished off a bottle of Chardonnay, and debated whether Hitchcock should have stuck to his guns and made Cary Grant the villain he was intended to be or whether it was better to have a redemptive ending.”

The knowledge that they didn’t do anything that was forgettable or regrettable is a surprising relief. Kylo shifts and rests his head against the side of the couch. “And the conclusion?”

Rey shakes her head fondly. “You kind of fell asleep before we could come to one. I—um, it didn’t look like you’d be comfortable sleeping in your boots and jeans, and I certainly don’t have any clothes that could come close to fitting you. Your clothes are over there—” she points to his shirt and jeans, folded neatly on a plain, wooden chair “—and I put out a toothbrush for you in the bathroom.”

Her thoughtfulness takes him aback. “Thank you,” Kylo says, willing her to know just how much he means it.

She smiles again, then turns as if to head out. “I’m making breakfast—nothing fancy, just some eggs, bacon, and frozen waffles. Coffee. Lots of it.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Depends. Are you accepting?”

Honestly, there’s nothing he’d love better. “You had me at coffee and your company.”

“Awesome.” He’s pretty sure her smile is even wider even though she ducks her head when she answers.

“And only if I can help out,” he says and removes the sheet.

“‘Course.” Her eyes drop down once more to Kylo’s lap, where his cock is still half-hard. Or..._ was. _

“Maybe I should get dressed first,” Kylo replies, not failing to notice her flustered gaze. “Unless you’d like to help me with that, too?”

Rey makes a strangled sound. “Bathroom’s down the hallway, on your left,” she says a bit breathlessly as she leaves.

Kylo scrubs his hand through his hair as he wills his hard-on to go down while scrutinizing her apartment. It’s small enough to fit inside the living room of his Park Avenue penthouse. The sounds of clinking glassware and metal pans echo from the kitchen, penetrating the thin walls. The living room itself is fairly utilitarian—there’s a couple of bookcases in addition to the couch and table, their mismatched and sagging frames suggesting a flea market or sidewalk find, and the potted ficus that seems to be de rigueur for Manhattan apartments occupies a lonely corner. The paint is peeling in some places and the unevenness of the plaster adds to a run down, overly lived-in feel.

The whole thing is a far cry from the penthouse he shares with Phasma and Hux, but he feels oddly at home. It’s quieter. He feels...settled.

He stands, grimacing as his muscles protested their overnight stay on the narrow couch. He throws on his jeans, then pads down the hallway to the bathroom. He swipes his phone at the last moment so he can check the status of his vault (now up to 1,000,000,000,000,066,600,000,000,000,473 souls), takes a look at the screen and pauses.

Rey had protested at first with the self-consciousness of those who have no idea how beautiful they truly are. But then she stopped, her head tilting towards him, lips parted and eyes widened as if realizing that what was happening between them meant something to Kylo, too. And it was at that moment that the shutter of his cell’s camera clicked—a snapshot of her hesitation, outlined with a bit of nervousness and vulnerability, but with undeniable excitement and wonder, forever captured in the picture on his home screen.

He sucks in a breath, wondering what forces have conspired to give him such a rare moment of contentedness. Nothing else matters in this moment—not Gore, nor those damn scrolls, or the weight of his Father’s legacy. He traces the outline of her brow, the curve of her neck while his face softens further. He can’t remember the last time—if he’s _ ever—_felt like this.

Kylo places the phone down on the counter and frees the toothbrush from its cardboard backing. As he squeezes a dollop of toothpaste along the bristles, he can hear Rey humming a song adorably off-key. He takes a bit longer than necessary to brush, chuckling at the ridiculous lyrics Rey makes up when she doesn’t know the words, then turns off the tap.

He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t wish to be wasteful as he places his toothbrush in the cup next to Rey’s instead of chucking it in the garbage once he’s finished.

**>oo<**

“No!” Rey laughs, her knees pulling up to her chest as she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “You _ didn’t.” _

“I most certainly did,” Kylo retorts as he holds up his hand like some earnest Boy Scout. “Of course, once I realized I could have snuck in by following Mr. Calrissian instead of scaling the walls like some pint-sized Spiderman, it was too late.”

“Oh my god, you are the literal definition of a devil child!” she snorts.

The unintentional accuracy of her remark, even though said in jest, causes Kylo to go quiet. Rey can’t truly fathom who he is—in fact, with the way her brow furrows with worry, he’s _ sure _ she has no clue as to his identity. But he feels himself falling deeper and deeper, and the idea that she’s developing all these attachments to him in return —when he’s so different from that illusion—well, it makes him feel messy and dishonest. Emotions he was not used to being bothered by.

He picks up his dark coffee, staring into its depths. He’s never been ashamed of who his family is, or what he does until now.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to poke fun. You were only a child,” Rey says gently, likely mistaking his silence for embarrassment over some youthful folly. “Everyone has something in their past that they can look back on and wonder ‘What was I thinking?’”

Kylo puts down his cup. “Even you, Rey Jackson?”

“God, _ especially _ me. Growing up...I mean, I wasn’t the worst, but I had so little guidance in the beginning. My parents died in a car crash when I was five. I moved out to Arizona after my Uncle Plutt became my guardian, where the weather seems to be set at either ‘hot’ or ‘hotter'. It's the kind of place where a kid with absentee relatives and no money can get bored pretty easily.” She picks at a hangnail while her eyes adopt a faraway look. Kylo sets his coffee down and waits for her to continue.

“Anyway, I didn’t have a lot of direction at first. No real role models to speak of, no allowance. I would scrounge around, do some dumpster diving—try to find things to resell so I could earn a little cash. I just wanted to enjoy some of the fun that my classmates did, you know?

“One day, when I was thirteen, I came across this guy who owned a garage—the kind that came across spare parts in not the most legal of ways. The owner, Mr. Windu, was always working on this bike—a Royal Enfield. Not one these chromed out, high-gloss finish bikes, but one done in a matte tan that bled into the desert. It was no-frills, every part on display in a take-it-or-leave-it kind of way.”

“Sort of like you,” Kylo guesses.

“Yeah.” Rey lets out a laugh, then takes a deep breath. “I thought I was being sneaky, trying to pick up some scrap metal one day, but Mr. Windu—Mace, he absolutely _ knew _ what I was doing. Scared the shit out of me too when he caught me red-handed. I was shaking...the worst scenarios flying through my head, but then he gave me a choice: to work off the cost of the scrap metal at his shop a couple of days a week, or he could call the police.”

“Ouch.” Kylo wrinkles his nose while trying to imagine a scared, thirteen-year old Rey. It seems so foreign to the self-assured and considerate person sitting before him. “So, obviously you took him up on his offer.”

“It was the best thing that happened to me, actually,” Rey smiles. “At first, he gave me little things to do—get coffee, answer the phones, sweep up when we closed—but most of the time, once he was done with work, he’d have me help out on his bike. When we got it up and running months later, Mace was the one who taught me how to ride.”

Kylo moves his chair over as he drinks in her smile. He can only imagine what she would look like now, her legs straddling the bike, body poised as she controlled the beast. “You liked it.”

_ “Loved _ it. Being on that bike...god, Kylo, it was like having wings. It was one of the few times where I truly felt free. It might have given me a thing for speed,” she says, laughing shakily. Her voice wobbles, and she looks down. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Mace died two years later. Left me the bike and a letter as part of his will.”

The silence stretches awkwardly between them. “The recipe for success?” Kylo asks, trying for levity and failing.

Rey gives him a wry smile. “In a way. He told me that he saw how I could problem-solve and focus and pick things up really quickly. He said that I was smart; told me—” Her voice breaks; Kylo reaches out to take her hand in his, grateful when she squeezes it back. “He told me that he didn’t want me squandering my talents like he did.”

She wipes at her eyes furiously with the back of her free hand. “He encouraged me to reach out to an old friend of his, someone who lived way out in Marin County, in the northern part of San Francisco. Luke ran a school for gifted kids. I never considered myself one, but Mace urged me to take their exam. I did so, but didn’t expect anything of it—I was never a stellar student. I got bored so easily, but I figured I owed Mace at least that much. Imagine my surprise when Luke called me before the results were officially out. He said that the test wasn’t designed to measure academic achievement and knowledge, but potential and aptitude. And then he told me that he hadn’t seen scores like mine in over twenty years.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kylo says, and Rey blushes prettily. “So, you went? Gave up the desert for the California coastline?”

Rey sniffles, but there’s a hint of a smile. “I did.”

“I have to admit, I’m surprised your uncle didn’t give you any pushback.”

“Not when I was accepted on a full scholarship. Less money out of his own pocket...even less responsibility. Of course, none of that mattered once I turned eighteen.”

She removes her hand from his to lean back in her chair and stretch her arms overhead. The hem of her t-shirt rides up above the flat plane of her belly. Kylo swallows and tries not to stare. Not at the smoothness of her skin or the delicate curves of her hip bones.

“Even though there was nothing tying me to Arizona, I was a ball of nerves. New school, new state, and trusting people I didn’t really know aside from a couple of phone calls and letters. But once I got there, California was...so _ green. _ I think I wandered around in utter awe for the first couple weeks. And even though the school grounds were enormous, the student body was quite small. I think I was one of fifty new enrollees that year.”

She pushes aside the unruly brown lock that’s fallen across her face and tucks it behind her ear. “Mace showed me I was more than I thought. Luke taught me to live up to my potential.”

Kylo watches her intently. “That’s why you volunteer at the youth center. It’s your way of paying it forward.” At her nod, he asks, “Do you still keep in touch with Luke?”

Rey bites her lower lip, her expression inscrutable. “Not in the way you might think.” At his inquisitive look, she continues. “He passed away during my senior year at Davis. It was a bitter loss, one of the reasons why I moved all the way cross country. But I learned that running away...distance doesn’t matter. I know it’s a total cliche, but it’s what’s here—” she reaches out and takes Kylo’s hand in hers, intertwining their fingers before placing it over her heart, “—that truly matters. Sometimes, when I let my mind go quiet, I can hear him still.”

Kylo looks down; Rey’s face heats as if she just realizes where their hands rest. She lets go, and Kylo takes advantage of her distraction to trace a path from her heart to the juncture of her neck, to her chin. She takes a deep breath, and from this angle, in the morning light, her eyes are the color of beach glass washed smooth by the ocean a thousand times over. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“You’re only one of two people who know,” Rey says shyly.

A ridiculous flash of jealousy washes through Kylo. “Oh?” he asks, aiming for nonchalance. “Who’s the other?”

“Maz. She was a teacher at the Academy as well.”

Kylo sits back, slack-jawed at the news. “How did Maz go from professor to waiting tables at the local greasy spoon?”

“Maz is eccentric,” Rey says with a laugh. “Plus, she’s totally loaded. She likes to experience all sorts of things. She moves and changes jobs on a whim.”

Kylo shakes his head, trying to visualize Maz in front of a classroom. “It’s good that you have her. So that you have family in New York, too.”

Rey sits forward. She’s jiggling her leg nervously, and she’s scanning Kylo’s face in a way that makes his uneasiness grow. It’s like she’s searching for something—and the truth is, he’s terrified he’ll be found sorely lacking.

“Wait here,” she says finally. “I have something to show you.” She darts down the hall; there’s a clattering, followed by a muffled curse, before she returns, carrying a large, rectangular box under her arm.

She moves their coffee cups out of the way and places the wooden box in the middle of the kitchen table, then plops down in her chair, looks at him pointedly and waits.

Kylo inches forward. The box is one-and-a-half feet long and six inches in depth and height, without much to distinguish with the exception of several runes that surround a silver-colored lock. At first glance, it appears unexceptional at best, and disappointing, at worst. But as he leans closer he feels an undeniable magical energy and power, one that’s so tangible it nearly casts a visible glow.

“This is the _ Rammahgon, _ isn’t it?” Kylo asks. Its magic reaches out to him, the glow intensifying.

“Yes.” Rey places her hand over the lock. She closes her eyes as her lips recite something too low for even Kylo to hear until there’s a quiet click. When Rey opens her eyes once more, they’re glazed over and her hands are trembling as she lifts off the cover. The box’s interior is velvet-lined, but aside from its deep, jewel-toned blue, the scrolls themselves are surprisingly plain.

Kylo lets out a puff of breath from his cheeks, the tension in his shoulders releasing.

“You’re unimpressed,” Rey observes.

“No...well, yes, in a way,” Kylo admits sheepishly. “This is what everyone has been vying for?” _What Gore would give up his soul for?_ _What he himself would betray Rey’s trust for._

Rey stands and comes up behind Kylo, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? It’s not what you think you see; it’s what in the scroll that’s important. The potential. The possibility.”

Kylo turns around in his seat, finally understanding. “That is why you won’t sell. The scrolls are a metaphor for you. To do so...” _ Would be to sell your soul, _ he finishes silently.

“This is...so much bigger than just myself. Luke gave me the scrolls. He trusted me to safeguard their message. He wanted to make sure that others could see the promise in them the way I finally could.”

Her body is pressed against his, and it’s so easy to tug her down. He snakes his hand around her waist and coaxes her lower; Rey complies by swinging a leg over his thighs and settling onto his lap. She feels warm and vulnerable, and he wants to drown in her lemony scent as she melts into his touch.

“Rey,” Kylo whispers. His fingers curl over the waistband of her low-slung pajama bottoms, the back of his knuckles brushing over her smooth, warm skin. She lets out a soft hum, then tips her face and angles her mouth so it fits perfectly over his. Her lips taste sweet, sticky from the syrup on her waffles and tinged with a hint of coffee.

Kylo’s hands skate down her sides as her mouth yields. The gentle rasp of their tongues turn demanding as her hand lifts to the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his hair, gently pulling. He holds her in place as she grinds down in his lap, the pressure on his hardening cock causing him to roll his hips into her aching body.

“Fuck,” he whispers against the corner of her mouth. Her free hand snakes down between them, pressing against the bulge in his jeans. The friction causes him to hiss with pleasure and she does it again with a happy smile while she rubs along his aching length with the heel of her hand, her thumb dragging along the outline of his tip. He could come like this; he feels like he’s so close already—all it would take would be a few more grinds, a couple more thrusts, a whiff of her soap-clean skin, or the glimpse of her parted, spit-slicked lips, and he would be spilling all over his pants like some inexperienced, hormonal teen.

He wants her. Desperately. But not like this.

“No. Stop,” he manages as she lets out a whimper. His fingers dig into the flesh of her hips and still their rocking.

Rey flinches. “I’m sorry.” She scurries up to stand, and Kylo aches at her stricken expression. “I didn’t even ask you what you wanted—”

Kylo lets out a frustrated growl. He wants her..._ fuck, _does he wants her, but he can’t like this, not now.

“Lazarus, no. It’s not that.” He bites out the answer, hating the idea that Rey could even think that he wouldn’t want to get to know every inch of her. He pulls her back down onto his lap, keeping his touch soft as he rubs a soothing circle along her bare hip. “Rey, I was sent to you for one specific purpose.”

Her eyes shutter and lips twist into something bitterly disappointed. “This is about the _ Rammahgon, _ isn’t it? _ ” _

“Yes. And no.” Kylo lets out a long breath at her infuriated glare. “You’re too good for me,” he admits, barely audible.

Rey barks out a sharp laugh. “Are you giving me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech?” He doesn’t respond, and she must take him seriously because her voice softens. “I don’t know about that. You seem pretty incredible to me.”

“Flashy clothes go a long way in distracting from the darkness people have inside.”

“If you haven’t guessed by now, fancy duds mean little to me,” Rey scoffs. “And I think I can make my own judgments about who’s good enough, thanks.”

“Why? Just because we shared a down-to-earth meal and I managed to respect your dignity while passed out on your couch? I _ acquire _ things, Rey. My whole purpose is to convince people to part with those things that are most valuable to them. My _ entire family _ is in the business.”

Rey fiddles with the hem of his shirt. The corner of her mouth tilts downward, her brows drawn as if she’s trying to work something out. “Sooo...okay, I’ll admit, it’s not in the same league as, say, Habitat for Humanity, but it’s not the _ worst _ thing in the world...”

Kylo tries to muster up a sardonic smile and fails. Miserably. “Believe me, Rey, ‘the worst’ is exactly what my family lives for.”

Her fingers stop moving from where they’re tracing deliberate circles on his back. “You forget that I wasn’t always an angel myself.”

“You were a desperate child! And pinching a bit of scrap metal…” He groans in frustration. “The things you did can’t compare to the things that I do. The things I do knowingly—happily—of my own volition.”

Suddenly, it’s too much—her delectable flesh against his, the temptation of her sweet mouth as it spills out words of trust and belief. It feeds his guilt, reminds him of the reason as to why he’s even here in the first place. With a snarl, he pushes her off his lap; she latches onto the side of the table, coming to a stand, and he catches a flash of her indignation before he leaves her in a huff, stalking over to the living room to retrieve his shoes.

Rey follows, two steps behind. Her face is flushed, her hands are fisted at her sides, and her voice betrays the unsteadiness of her emotions. “What exactly do you and your family do to get what you need? Are you part of some organized crime syndicate?” Her eyes widen at his shocked expression. “Oh my god, you are. If you are, I probably don’t want to know…”

Kylo huffs out a laugh; it sounds foreign. Brittle. “Someone accused me of that recently. The truth is that my family has ways of encouraging people to see the benefits of what we offer them.”

“What are we talking about here, Kylo? Coercion?” Her lips thin and the line of her jaw firms. “Are _ you _ being forced to do something you don’t want, just because it’s your family’s business?”

Kylo doesn’t answer right away. Up until now, he’s never felt that what his family does is wrong. They are here to do a job, and he in particular is damn well successful at it. And the way in which they do it...well, he’s not sure if he has anything to compare it to. His family just _ is— _the methods they employ no better or worse than the other supernaturals or deities he occasionally associates with.

And Kylo, more than any of his other siblings, even Hux, has the most responsibility, next to his father. He’s been tasked with the greatest and most far-reaching of the sins, for power influences the course of not just one’s own life, but that of many others.

“Not coercion. Suggestion,” Kylo corrects with a long sigh. “Often abetted by supernatural means. I tempt with that which the heart desires most.”

The mention of the supernatural doesn’t shock Rey like Kylo would have thought, and he wonders if her interest in the scrolls is more than purely sentimental, given their mystic nature. “Show me,” she demands, her voice quiet.

He holds out a hand, palm up, and waves his other one over it. Rey bends forward, drawn in by the ochre flames that lick around the image of a man and woman holding hands with a young girl, unabashed love in their every expression.

Rey looks up at Kylo, her eyes blinking furiously with unshed tears and longing. “It’s so beautiful. And so cruel.”

Kylo draws his fingernails into his palms until they leave indentations in his skin, and the fiery image disappears along with the movement. “It is who I am.”

“I don’t believe that.” Rey’s expression is still somber, but she speaks slowly and with determination. “At least, it’s not all you are. I saw you with Sarah...yes, I saw how uncomfortable you were when you first arrived. It was as if being around kids was the most frightening thing ever, but you _ tried. _ You sat down in a plastic chair that looked like it could break just from the weight of your feet—”

“I’m pretty sure that chair broke my ass,” Kylo mutters.

Rey smiles just enough to cause hope to flutter impatiently inside Kylo’s chest. “Even so, you endured that unspeakable hardship until it became inconsequential because your focus turned to Sarah herself. You gave that girl two hours of your friendship and feeling cared for, with no thought of yourself.”

Kylo looks off at a spot behind Rey’s shoulder, unable to meet her gaze. The window next to Rey reveals a clear sky, the kind that’s usually free from the oppressive humidity of the later summer months or the threat of a thunderstorm. The irony infuriates him. “I was there for you.”

Rey folds her hands in front of her and stays quiet for a moment. “Because of you thought to work your way into my good graces so you can get the _ Rammahgon?” _ she asks quietly. “Or was it because of something else?” She reaches out to grip his hand tightly; the fierceness of her willpower sears his skin, damning him. “Show me, Kylo. If you were to be persuaded to give up something valuable, what would it take? What is your heart’s desire?”

He can’t refuse her. “Just know,” he says, preparing himself for the worst, “that no matter what this shows, my time with you was never just about the _ Rammahgon.” _ He holds out his other hand, feels the fire’s angry heat as the rush of magic causes him to flinch. It is not uncommon to feel an outpouring of magic that matches the ferocity of one’s desire. The power-hungry often have dreams that are a lifetime in the making—but this desire comes from within, pulling something deep-seated from his gut. He can only imagine the disappointment and betrayal that Rey will feel upon seeing all his own greed on display.

Rey lets out a small sound, his name breaking on her lips. “Kylo...”

He drags his eyes up, unable to hold back any longer. But instead of a vault bursting at the seams from the number of damned souls it holds, or standing by his father’s side in front of the gates of Hell, or even rediscovering the passion for his responsibilities that he’s lost decades ago, he sees a stillness. There’s something else there—the dark quiet broken as his hand reaches out and another one mirrors it. It’s a tentative touch, where wonder and togetherness explodes into something radiant the moment they meet.

The force of his emotions knocks Kylo back in his seat. He’s tired of being wanted because of something he can provide, or praised because he’s someone to be feared. He wants to be wanted—to be _ loved— _for who he is.

Even if he’s not exactly sure of who that is himself.

He has a pretty good idea, however, of whose hand mirrors his, and he craves it with every breath of his soul.

Kylo bridges the distance between them, his hands holding fast to Rey’s back as he gathers her up in his arms. He captures her mouth with his and she eagerly greets him. There’s a desperation to their kiss—he pushes her back against the wall as her hands scrabble over his shoulders, hips digging into him, egging him on, as if she needs him just as much.

“Rey.” He breaks apart reluctantly even as she tilts forward to chase his mouth. His thumb skims along the graceful line of her cheek, and he curses himself for his newfound morality. “I want you...more than you could know. Whatever my original intentions, I assure you they no longer hold any merit. But even though you glimpsed my greatest wish, it is only that—a wish, malleable and impermanent. If we were to continue, I would want to do so without any doubt between us.”

“You’re going to tell Gore ‘no,’” Rey realizes, and he adores her even more in that instant. Her fingers trace the line of his mouth. “Won’t he...your family, be mad?”

“Probably. Definitely,” Kylo says with a wry laugh. He doesn’t even want to think about the consequences for breaking his contract with Gore; a breach of his responsibilities where one’s soul is on the line means reciprocating with something of equal value. For a supernatural being—a demon, the direct descendant of the Devil himself—he could be stripped of his magic. His power. He would be relegated to the bottom of the demonic hierarchy, no better than those who created discord through trickery instead of effecting any real change.

Rey sighs. She takes his hand from where it rests on her shoulder and brings it down before giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here. I believe in you.”

Her words are spoken with a quiet conviction, and her heart beats steady and true. Kylo wills himself to believe that if this is all it was meant to be, then somehow it is still enough.

*****

The door to Rey’s apartment has barely shut before Kylo feels the keen lack of her presence.

“Come on, Kylo. The sooner you do this, the sooner you can get on with what you really want.” He can’t believe he’s been reduced to this, talking to himself in the hallway of an apartment complex that looks like it’s two deadbolts short of a robbery.

His fingers trail down the numbers of Rey’s door. The “G” hangs by a loosened nail, the bottom of it tilting back and forth..

He might not have his powers for much longer, but it would be nice to do something good with it, for once. He rubs his palms against the doorframe and the walls, setting up a protective barrier, then reinforces it for good measure.

The last remnants of the enchantment have barely taken hold before he’s interrupted by a voice that’s as threatening as it is familiar.

“Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, my dear nephew.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo raises a puzzled brow. “What are you talking about?”
> 
> “Someone or something helped themselves to a nice portion of our library. They certainly knew what they were doing—some of our most precious artifacts and rarest works were taken. It’s as if they knew exactly what they were looking for,” Snoke says with a reluctant admiration.
> 
> “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
> 
> Snoke’s smug eyes move toward Rey’s door. “I expect it’s because you’ve been busy. _Working.”_
> 
> Kylo shakes his head; air quotes shouldn’t be allowed in someone who’s six thousand years old. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post the last chapter a day early!! Thanks so much to everyone who followed, I truly appreciate it! <33

###  **CHAPTER 4**

“Uncle Snoke.” Kylo feels his heart pounding as he looks Snoke straight in the eyes. It’s over five thousand years later, but Kylo still feels like a youngling when confronted by his uncle’s ominous voice. Snoke looks nearly the same as he last remembers—sure, there’s a few more wrinkles and his skin is now tinged with a greyish pallor, but he’s just as creepy as ever. “What a surprise. Happen to be in the neighborhood?”

If Snoke had any lips, they would probably curl into a sneer. Instead, his pruny mouth twists into something distasteful. “Is it time to relocate already, Kylo? I know downward mobility is a thing among millennials nowadays, but I didn’t realize it referred to people born in the first cycle.”

“See you still have your sense of humor,” Kylo mutters. “Glad to know that it hasn’t dried up from all your bitterness like the rest of you.”

Surprisingly, that earns him a chuckle. “Kylo. You always were a source of amusement. Though your attempts at repartee lack the deft touch of someone like your brother. ‘Sour grapes’ would have been a much better choice.”

The forced smile slides off Kylo’s face. There’s always been an undercurrent of malevolence underlying their interactions, and he has no illusions that this will end any differently. “I’ll keep you in mind the next time I need a thesaurus.”

“Why? Are you contemplating a career change?”

“Like that wouldn’t make your day. You’ve always been jealous of the fact that Father handed the responsibility of Power over to me.” 

Snoke’s eyes, if possible, narrow even further. “My brother is occasionally foolish, led by sentiment rather than logic. As much as it galls me to admit, you’re talented. But you also lack focus. There’s no drive; no motivation.” He moves a step closer and the temperature in the hallway seems to drop. “With that attitude, it’ll be a miracle if you last the next hundred years.”

Fury wells inside Kylo, a result of his indignation and realization that Snoke might be correct. “As it turns out, I’m working. For a client.”

“Really?” Snoke leans against the wall, his hip cocked as he crosses one leg over the other in a casual pose. Kylo isn’t fooled for a second, but he appreciates the breathing room. “I’ve been watching this apartment since midnight, and you’re the first person to have stepped in or out of it since then. Tell me, have things grown so desperate you’ve resorted to late night calls? Or were you merely...distracted?”

The thought of Snoke watching them—of watching _ Rey— _ sets Kylo’s teeth on edge. “That is none of your concern. This is _ my _ territory. You have no business interfering.”

Snoke unfolds his feet and pushes off against the wall. “I’m here on business as well. And, as shocking as it may be for your ego, it has nothing to do with you.”

Kylo folds his hands over his chest and glares. “Humor me.”

Snoke stares at him and then sighs. “A large number of our family’s books have gone missing. I am on a quest to get them back.”

Kylo raises a puzzled brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone or something helped themselves to a nice portion of our library. They certainly knew what they were doing—some of our most precious artifacts and rarest works were taken. It’s as if they knew exactly what they were looking for,” he says with a reluctant admiration.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

Snoke’s smug eyes move toward Rey’s door. “I expect it’s because you’ve been busy. _ Working.” _

Kylo shakes his head; air quotes shouldn’t be allowed in someone who’s six thousand years old. Ever. “It still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

Snoke shrugs. “I’ve been following our family’s blood signature. That, and the fact that there is an abundance of magical activity concentrated in this area, led me to this apartment.” He takes a step closer to the door, and Kylo’s heart jumps to his throat.

“I can assure you, there’s nothing here—”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Snoke puts a bony hand on Kylo’s shoulder, his pressure a warning. His eyes harden when Kylo shrugs it off. “If it is the human you are concerned about, I’ll make it easy. An immobilization spell, or perhaps something to alter her memory. Why, you could even have a bit of fun with the girl if you care to sully yourself with a mortal—”

Snoke’s words die in a sickening gurgle as Kylo rushes forward, his hands around his uncle’s throat. “Don’t you dare touch her,” he threatens, barely able to suppress his rage.

“Ahh,” Snoke manages to gasp in between his wheezes. “So this _ is _ more than just a job.” He crooks the fingers on his right hand. Instantly, Kylo feels an invisible force pry his hands apart. “You are nothing but a whelp,” Snoke barks out once his pale face darkens back to its ashen grey. “Governed by your emotions and still with so much left to learn of the world.”

“I know enough,” Kylo spits. “I know that you’ve resented Father for being born first. That you covet the title and power that he possesses.”

“You know _ nothing.” _ There’s a rumbling that comes up from under Kylo’s feet, and he hears a clacketing sound as the “G” on Rey’s door swings around itself repeatedly. “I _ love _ my brother. I would have gladly ruled by his side, but he passed the responsibilities onto his spawn instead. And yet, you make a mockery of your powers. Poor Kylo, how _ boring _ it must be to play with the destinies of mere mortals. How _ terrible _ it is for you to have to live in the lap of luxury, to have the world laid at your feet from the moment you were born.”

Kylo’s hackles rise. “You could never accept the fact that you were never destined to rule. You’d have my sympathy, if you weren’t so pathetic.” He lifts his hand and points to Snoke in warning. “Stay away from Rey.”

The rumbling intensifies as Snoke’s entire body visibly trembles in anger. “You dare to challenge me? I could have _ crushed _ you under my thumb when you were but a babe. I had entire countries cower under my spells by the time you learned how to speak. Perhaps it’s time for you to remember your place. To realize that not everything revolves around you. To rid you of your distractions.”

In a blink of an eye, Snoke unleashes a powerful spell at Rey’s door; a jagged bolt of lightning erupts from his fingertips, but the enchantment splutters before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“A protective barrier, Kylo?” Snoke asks as Kylo quickly replaces the ward that’s been damaged. “You know that these won’t hold against my powers.”

“It’ll slow you down, though. And given your age and my determination, I am sure I’ll win when it comes to a war of attrition.”

Snoke gives him a considering look. “Perhaps,” he admits and conjures a cherry-red ball of gas in his aged hands. The nebulous form intensifies as the margins coalesce, then split apart. “I guess I’ll just have to make you work a bit harder, then. How does five against one sound?”

Snoke throws the spinning ball as it cracks and fragments into four bits. The pieces push out at their edges and shift into amorphous and grotesque forms that smooth out into blood-red heads, arms and legs.

“Praetorian guards? Fighting dirty already, uncle?” Kylo says but pauses when he hears the sliding bolt of a door unlock.

“Kylo? Who are you talking to?” Rey says as she steps out from the doorway, but her exit is halted when she takes in Snoke’s malicious smile. Her right hand is clutching something close to her side that looks remarkably like a brass curtain rod.

“Rey, get back inside,” Kylo orders. It might not have been the best way to convince Rey, considering the mulish set of her jaw.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“This is a family matter,” Snoke says, dismissing her. “And though you may have my nephew twisted around your little finger and a variety of other body parts, you are not, and will not ever be, family.”

“It’s true what they say. That charm and manners can skip generations.”

It happens in a split second. Rey stifles a gasp as Snoke thrusts out his arm, her body stiffening as it’s dragged toward him by an invisible force. The tips of her toes scrape the floor while the curtain rod bangs against the surface in a dissonant rhythm until she’s brought in front of him, helpless.

Snoke smiles thinly. “I don’t know whether you’re brave or incredibly stupid. But don’t toy with my patience.” He inclines his head, and two of the Praetorian guards move a step closer. One is wielding a rod that looks like a deadlier version of Rey’s, which he uses to draw arching circles in the air with its sharp tip.

Kylo lets out a deafening roar, charging as he unleashes an enchantment that stuns the guard. He takes advantage of the distraction to tackle him at the knees, and the guard’s weapon clatters onto the ground. Rey winces at the sound of bones being crushed by several well-placed punches, then looks up as Kylo summons a spell that causes the guard to break in two before dissolving in a puff of smoke.

“The Praetorian guards,” Rey says, her disbelief evident as she strikes out at one of the three remaining guards surrounding them. “The corporeal manifestations of the toxic vapors of Hierapolis surrounding the Gates of Hell. I thought they were a myth.”

“They are no myth,” Snoke says, his tone highly insulted. “They are as real as Hell and the Devil. But then again, you must know that, seeing as you’ve been keeping company with the Devil’s spawn himself.”

“What?” Rey asks, whipping around to face Kylo.

“I thought you knew,” Kylo says. He strikes one of the guards between the shoulder blades who thought to take advantage of Rey’s distraction by sneaking up behind her. “I am a demon,” he confesses. “You saw me conjure the images. I felt that power within you, too. When you tried to read me.” He grunts as he’s hit in the ribs by a baston.

“I knew you were supernatural. Just not my...ugh,” she groans, and brings up her rod to catch one of the guards on the chin. His head snaps back, stunned, and she maneuvers the staff deftly in her hands. One end knocks the guard to the ground while she brings the other end up and over before stabbing it through the center of his chest. The guard gives way with an awful, crunching sound, and the body disintegrates into dust all over her face. “Never mind. You’re going to tell me everything later,” she says, gagging.

“It appears there are few things you’ve neglected to tell me as well.” Kylo can’t help teasing her, his blood singing from the adrenaline as his fear swings into excitement and admiration. He rears back and kicks out at the legs of the guard in front of him, but misjudges the distance and only knocks him off balance instead of into the ground.

The guard’s arm flails, and the sword that he carries catches Kylo in the side. There’s a searing, agonizing pain, one that can only come from a blade that has been dipped in the River of Death. It’s not fatal, in the same way it would be to a mortal, but the sharpness still stings. Kylo stumbles; he feels the warmth of blood pooling at his side, the copper smell of it in the air and in his mouth. He barely rights himself before something smashes against the side of his head. Vision whitening, he starts to fall.

The floor flies toward him much too fast; Kylo throws up several protective spells, but his wound has affected his accuracy and strength. He hits against the tiled surface with a painful _ thwack, _ and as his vision blurs he sees two guards—wait, three? one?—wavering above him.

A second figure enters his field of vision. Kylo hears a loud clunk and then another. He tries to focus but the lights are a bit too bright and the movement too quick—he thinks he sees the ends of a curtain rod whirling, their ends now tipped in an otherworldly blue. There’s the smell of something burning, too—an acrid, mephitic odor that reminds him too much of home when one of the figures vanishes into the now-chilled air.

He’s still blinking furiously when he feels Rey’s hand in his.

“Get up,” she says and helps him to his feet. “There’s just one left,” she murmurs, and points to the lone guard fleeing down the stairs.

Kylo chases after him. He feels his magic concentrating in the palms of his hands, but he can’t get a clear shot, not at this angle. He starts his descent down the apartment stairs, heedless of his own injuries as he skates down several steps at once. Their footfalls echo loudly throughout the stairwell; Kylo hooks his left arm over the railing and swings his body over it to land on the floor below less than ten feet from the startled guard.

The surprise works to his advantage. When the guard’s arms start to windmill, Kylo uses the opportunity to gather his power once more and focus it deep inside the enemy. The spell doesn’t seem to do much at first, but soon there are fissures appearing all over the guard’s body, the cracks lengthening and widening until the form disintegrates, showering the hallways in red dust and vapor.

Rey bounds down the stairs with her rod still in hand. “Are you all right?” Her knuckles are scraped and bruised, but to be honest, she looks in better shape than he is.

“Yeah. I’m fine. All in a day’s work.” His clothes are torn, there’s a jagged wound in his left side, and he’s covered in dust. Suddenly, the ridiculousness of the statement must hit them both as they exchange looks of giddy relief.

“I’d hate to see you on a bad day,” she teases.

“Somehow, I think you’d be able to handle it and more.” Kylo takes a step towards her, ready to draw her near when he suddenly remembers—

“Fuck. My uncle.”

Two pairs of feet race back up the flights of stairs. “Snoke!” Kylo shouts as they burst into Rey’s open apartment. He pushes past the living room, past the couch and into the kitchen, Rey fast on his heels.

Snoke looks up from where he’s sitting at the little yellow linoleum kitchen table. The box containing the _ Rammahgon _ is cradled in his hands. His eyes, pale and wet, are difficult to read.

“I knew I felt magic, but I had no idea…”

Kylo fury rises as Rey’s face pales. “You came to retrieve our family’s belongings. The _ Rammahgon _ never belonged to us.”

“The _ Rammahgon _ and the _ Aionomica _ are as important as the Bible and Qur’an in laying out the foundations of faith.” He runs a finger over the box thoughtfully. “They contain the collected spiritual teachings of the Jedi. They have the potential to pave the way to enlightenment.”

“Which is a good thing,” Rey says, showing no fear despite Snoke’s foreboding gaze. “Which is why texts such as the _ Rammahgon _ belong in the hands of the people.”

“And where would that leave my darling nephew and myself? You see, minds free from such knowledge makes our jobs so much easier.”

“And you’d rather have that as the state of the world? Dark and ignorant?”

“Who is to say that the dissemination of knowledge is beneficial for the advancement of mankind?” asks Snoke. “With the wealth of information and technology at your hands, you mortals utilize such gifts to perpetuate propaganda and lies.”

“This is true,” Rey says, thoughtful. “But information and education is used for good as well.”

Snoke shakes his head as if he were speaking with a witless, lower demon. “Look at it from my point of view. If I leave here _ without _ the _ Rammahgon, _then mankind will either squander its teachings away, or use it to phase me and my family out of existence.”

“I don’t believe that.” Rey walks over to Kylo and takes his hand in hers. Kylo looks at her in surprise. “I believe that _ all _ of us have the capacity for light and darkness. And in an ideal world, I think that this duality is not necessarily a bad thing. A world without conflict or dissent is one that remains stagnant. A peaceful co-existence might appear ideal at first glance, but complacency does nothing for advancement.”

“If that were true…” Kylo turns towards Rey, daring to believe her words. “You’d still be with me? Knowing what I stand for...who I am?”

“Yes,” she says, and with that one word, Kylo feels as if his entire universe has shifted. “I like you a lot, if you haven’t noticed. And while I don’t believe in coercion or falsities to promote your message, I do know you have enough good in your heart to make sure that your decisions and interactions are just.”

“Rey.” Gratitude and relief overwhelm Kylo. He rushes forward into her waiting arms. “You must be an angel, if not in name, then in spirit,” he whispers. “How did you become so wise?”

“I had a great teacher. One who taught me to fulfill my destiny.” She leans back to look Kylo in the eyes, cheeks pinking. When she speaks, her breath is hot against Kylo’s skin, branding him. “And I _ am _ an angel, an emissary of the Second Sphere, tasked with governing the realms of Power and Authority.”

“My other half,” Kylo says, breathless. “‘The counterbalance to the Demon who promotes Power as sin.’ It makes sense that they were always connected. Why he has been drawn to her from the moment they met.

A slow clap fills the room. “How very _ touching. _ One would think that young love never existed before you two.” Snoke looks utterly disgusted as he brackets the box containing the scrolls with his arms. “It was a very nice speech, Ms. Jackson, but sadly, I don’t share in your sentiments. Darkness is my family’s path. And with the destruction of texts such as the _ Rammahgon, _ darkness shall rule.” He reaches for the lock, only to let out an agonizing scream as the box begins to shake and the metal upon which he hand rests starts to smoke.

Rey’s face is unflinching as Snoke stares at her in surprise. “A protective ward against those who wish to do harm. It is one brought on by your own doing.” Snoke’s mouth falters, lagging behind the moment where he must have become cognizant of the depth of his predicament.

“Noooo—” The dying word is swallowed up by whirring noise as the runes on the box that guard the _ Rammahgon _ glow. The lock turns, the keyhole strobes with an ethereal light that pulsates with an intense energy. It sucks in Snoke, gold lamé robe and all, swallowing his darkness as he lets out a cry. It is a noise Kylo knows only too well as the wail of a soul damned to spend eternity in Hell.

The light fades as Snoke’s cry is finally silenced, and the lock clicks shut once more.

“Is he…?” Kylo knows that in rare instances, even the deities are not immune to Death.

Rey holds on to him tightly. “I’m sorry,” she says, stroking his hair.

Kylo knows he should feel _ something— _sadness or maybe relief—but instead, he just feels exhausted. He slides out of Rey’s arms to step into the space where his uncle sat less than five minutes ago, and feels nothing. “The runes,” he says, staring at the box which has now gone back to being quiet and unassuming. He reaches out to touch the carved and ancient wood, then thinks better of it. “What do they say?”

_"Ignorance breeds monsters to fill up the vacancies of the soul that are unoccupied by the verities of knowledge. _Horace Mann; he was an angel of the Third Sphere, a guide and protector to humans.” Rey comes up behind Kylo and wraps her arms around his waist. Kylo closes his eyes and leans into her embrace, letting it ground him. “Are you all right?”

Kylo turns, nuzzling the damp smoothness of her cheek. He breathes her in, sweetness mixed with ash. He feels his heart respond, strong and steady. Rey tilts her head so their lips touch. The angle isn’t perfect, full of smushed noses and the hint of chin and teeth, but it doesn’t need to be.

“Yes,” Kylo says simply once she pulls back. The word seems inadequate, so he spins around to face her, letting her know just how much he loves her with his lips and tongue and the soft sighs he whispers against her mouth.

**>oo<**

The confidence Kylo felt in Rey’s arms disappears as soon as he’s standing in front of Gore’s building. There’s no question as to what he needs to do. The question is what Gore will demand in return for reneging on their bargain.

He can’t lose Rey. Not when it’s taken him all of his lifetime to find her.

“Mr. Ren.” The voice comes over the intercom, the impatience undeniable despite the staticky overlay. “Are you going to stand there all day or are you coming up?”

_ Fuck. _“I’m coming—” Kylo doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before the intercom clicks off and he’s being buzzed in. It’s only six floors up, but the ride feels interminable. He stares at the glossy oak panels and brass finishings of the elevator car, and finds himself wishing for the dingy walls, worn stairs, and scraped paint of Rey’s walkup.

The doors open smoothly, eerily quiet. Kylo steps out, glancing around for any signs of Gore.

“In the library, Mr. Ren. I trust you remember where that is? End of the hall, two doors on your left.”

Kylo lets out an irritated huff as he makes his way to the room. He didn’t quite remember Gore being so _ annoying. _He reminds himself that he needs to appease Gore, no aggravate him.

The elderly man sits reading a book in front of an imposing table.

“Mr. Gore. I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice—”

“Do you have the _ Rammahgon?” _ Gore asks, not bothering to hide his eagerness.

Now that Kylo understands the significance of the scrolls, he can’t believe he nearly had a hand in upsetting the world’s spiritual balance. “I don’t. And you’re quite right. Ms. Jackson won’t sell.”

Gore lifts a bushy brow. “I fail to see why you’re telling me this less than three weeks into our agreement. Have you given up, Mr. Ren? One would think you don’t want this deal to happen.”

“I don’t.” Gore’s eyebrows disappear under his hair. “It’s not right,” Kylo sighs as he takes a seat across from Gore.

There’s a moment where Gore watches Kylo with a strange expression, his hands still and nose crinkling as if he’s smelled something foul. He eventually stands, walking over to one of the bookcases to inspect their leathery spines. “Given your background, does ‘right’ truly matter? I thought that was the whole purpose of our contract: my soul, in exchange for a sin. By its very definition, the entire deal is an immorality, a transgression, an offense.”

Kylo tries to calm his racing pulse. He’s torn between keeping the _ Rammahgon _ out of the wrong hands—both for the sake of the balance of the world, and for Rey—and hanging onto his birthright, because as it turns out, he _ does _ enjoy being a demon. And right now, he has no idea where Gore is heading with his line of thinking.

“But right and wrong don’t exist in a vacuum. And in certain cases, the price of sin is so great that even I can’t overlook it.” Kylo lifts his head and sits up straighter. “The _ Rammahgon _ belongs to the people. It doesn’t belong in someone’s private collection, collecting dust, its lessons unread.”

Gore stops perusing his shelves. “How is what I wish to do with the scrolls any different from what Ms. Jackson is doing? The _ Rammahgon _ isn’t helping mankind by being stowed away in some squalid apartment.”

“Rey—” Kylo stops, his face heating. _ “Ms. Jackson _,” he corrects, “does not wish to sell the scrolls. She believes they should be shared, their information disseminated. She is not opposed to donating them, provided whoever keeps them next is doing so with the purest of intentions.”

“So, you’re saying mine are not?” When Kylo doesn’t respond, Gore pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an impatient sigh. “This is a difficult loss to bear. I just found out someone in my family had passed, and now this...”

“I am sorry.” Kylo looks at his hands, his gut sinking.

“Sorry won’t excuse you from your contractual agreement, Mr. Ren.”

“I am aware of that, Mr. Gore.”

“Perhaps you can enlighten me. Self-sacrifice is not a concept I am overly familiar with. And, if I’m not mistaken, it is not your modus operandi either. What was so different this time around that you would risk putting everything, including your very identity, on the line?”

Even though he’s risking Gore’s ire, Kylo refuses to answer. His relationship with Rey is none of Gore’s business. He looks up, his lips pressed together and fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

Gore stops moving as his eyes narrow, his hand coming to a halt on one of the books.

“You fell in love with Ms, Jackson, didn’t you?” When Kylo’s face grows stormy, Gore throws his head back and laughs. “You did!” he crows, the reaction at odds with the rest of him. “She’s very tempting, isn’t she?”

A leather-bound book lands on the desk in front of Kylo. Kylo looks up in confusion. “Dr. Zhivago?” he asks.

“Considered to be either one of the greatest love stories or a bloated mess, depending on who you ask. But it also contains one of my favorite lines in literature, and one that, I have a feeling, pertains especially to you and Ms. Jackson.”

Gore opens the book; it bends easily at the spine and the pages ruffle quickly, almost as if he’s not touching it. “Here,” he says, pointing to a single line:

_ You and I, it's as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught. _

Kylo whips his head around. The quote is too apt. There’s no way that it could be pure coincidence. “You know,” he says quietly.

“That Ms. Jackson is an angel of the Second Sphere _ and _your match? The answer is simple. Love intrigues me, Mr. Ren. Besides,” he drawls, "desire and temptation happen to be my specialty.”

There is a shimmer that settles over Gore, and then his skin is being pulled in a hundred different directions, his wrinkles flattening, body lengthening. It reminds Kylo of the Praetorian guards as Gore’s grey hair thickens and rearranges itself into something well-styled as pigment infuses their strands, turning them ginger. His nose straightens and narrows while his lips fill as the shape pulls into a smirk, and his eyes turn a clear, piercing green.

Kylo lets out an audible groan as his head hits the table. Bill F Gore. Baal-Peor. _ Belphegor. _His brother always loved to play word games, and he can’t believe that he never associated the alias with the name the Hux used to be called by the ancients in Abila.

“Hux.” Kylo doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or hug him. Probably punch him.

“Hello, brother mine.”

Kylo lifts his head, anger and confusion warring inside him. “Having some fun at my expense? Was this all a joke to you?” He’s angry—angry to have suffered through the last couple of weeks —and the last two days, especially. And now, to see Hux standing in front of him with a smug look on his face...

Hux walks over and stands in front of Kylo with a put-upon expression. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“Because I’m generally right?”

“Well, you’re wrong in this instance.” Hux plucks his cell phone out of his pocket and dials a number, then sets it to speakerphone. He sits back in his seat and places the phone on the table between them.

“Hux, darling. Have you told Kylo yet?”

“Mere seconds ago, Phasma. He’s sitting in front of me as we speak. Glowering, of course.”

“Kylo, dear! What a nice surprise!”

Kylo sighs dramatically. “Et tu, Phasma?”

Hux tuts. “Come now, Kylo. Don’t get all literate on me. One big personality change a day is probably all you can handle."

“So what's the outcome, big bro? Did you pass Hux's test with flying colors? Did _ lurrrhhv _win out in the end?"

Hux looks at Kylo and smirks. "Let's just say that your predictable reaction to my little stunt means I won the right to choose our next residence."

"Oh, pooh." Kylo can hear Phasma's pout all the way across the airwaves. "Welp. Guess I'd better stock up on sunscreen. Though truth be told, I'm happy for you, Kylo. Oh, shit.” There’s the sound of something falling onto the floor, followed by muffled laughter.

"Thanks?" Kylo says, watching Hux in confusion. “Who’s there with you, Phas?”

Phasma becomes uncharacteristically close-lipped. “I think I’m going to let this one simmer a bit before unleashing all you louts on her. I’ll speak to you boys later.” She hangs up, but not before Kylo catches the sound of a gasp and a feminine squeal.

“Are you meddling in Phasma’s life, too?” he asks Hux.

“Pffft. Phasma has men and women coming out of her ears. You, on the other hand, needed some help.”

“Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

“Honestly, Kylo, if I started from the time Phasma and I—and Mitaka, I might add, and that should tell you something—noticed something was wrong, we’d be here forever. But suffice it to say, your dissatisfaction with your responsibilities over the last forty years has been grating. I needed to do something about it—not out of the goodness of my heart, of course—but because I couldn’t stand your moping.”

“You assume I think you have a heart,” Kylo snorts. “Continue.”

“I knew that each of us, even me, has a mirror out there. What we reap in sin, our mirror strives to balance. It took me a while, but imagine my surprise when I discovered your counterpart lived in New York.” A faraway gleam falls over his eyes. “And what a delectable counterpart Rey is. So young and beautiful and feisty—”

“Hux.” Kylo barely contains the growl that emanates from deep within his chest.

Hux gives him a look as if to ask _ What fun are you? _ “It was a stroke of luck. I’ve actually been trying to track down the _ Rammahgon. _ Someone in this family has to be the brains, after all. That’s what led me to the Jedi Praxeum, Professor Skywalker, and ultimately, Rey.” Hux looks at the back of his nails, then buffs them across the front of his silk, Givenchy shirt. “From there, it was easy to set up an alias and a reason for you to meet.” He looks up at Kylo quizzically. “Didn’t any of the books in here look familiar at all?”

“I should have recognized their magic,” Kylo admits gruffly. As he looks around at the sight of the extensive collection of works around him, a sense of pride fills him for all that his family’s accomplished. Their roles might not be worshipped in the same way as some of the other deities, but if anything, Rey has taught him that it is no less important.

The thought of family, and the texts, causes him to tumble back to earth. “Shit. Hux. Um...about Snoke…”

Hux’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a deep breath. “Right. Well...I suppose I had a hand in his demise as well. I hadn’t planned on him tracking the scrolls to Rey’s. The fact that he did is kind of strange because it didn’t have our family’s magical signature on it. But it’s possible that all the time you spent with her left an impression.” He frowns, contemplative, and then as suddenly as it happened, he pastes on a bright smile. “He was an asshole of the first order, anyway. Wretchedness, thy name is Snoke. Probably better off now, wherever he is. And I wouldn’t worry too much about Father—he’ll be more upset that he doesn’t have someone who shares his horrid fashion sense than anything else.”

“Hux. There’s still the matter of the contract.”

Hux looks taken aback. “What? That silly old thing?”

“It doesn’t matter if you signed it as Gore,” Kylo persists. “We entered one, one in which I promised a service. It’s not a matter of me being successful or not, but that I chose to break it.” He snaps his fingers; the contract manifests in his hand and he places it on the table, pushing it over towards Hux.

Hux unfolds the parchment and looks it over. “I’m not sure what the problem is, Kylo. It says right here: _ In exchange for facilitating the acquisition of the _ Rammahgon, _ William F. Gore will bequeath to Kylo Ren his soul upon his death.” _ He folds the contract in half and then into quarters, then proceeds to tear it to pieces. “As I see it, I have no soul to give—thus, voiding the contract. You are absolved from any responsibility.”

Kylo knows that Hux could have, under demonological law, demanded that Kylo give up a portion of his powers. The fact that he didn’t demand _ anything _ at all makes Kylo look at his brother in an entirely different light.

“Thank you,” Kylo whispers, floored. “And for what it’s worth, I think you do. Have a soul, that is.”

Hux rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips give him away with a quirk. “Truly, Kylo, sometimes you’re just tiresome.”

Kylo pastes on a devilish grin at Hux’s discomfort. “You know what? If pressed, I might even say that you have a heart.”

Hux picks up _ Dr. Zhivago _ and sends it flying across the room, where it settles back in its original spot on the shelf. “Now you’re just insulting me. Be gone, before I change my mind.”

Kylo smiles, not wanting to overstay his welcome. He and Hux may have reached a new place in their relationship, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. He tips his hand to his forehead in a mock salute then leaves, whistling a jaunty tune as he makes his way down the hall. He’s just about to enter the elevator when he hears Hux shout.

“And Kylo? Do invite Rey over to dinner sometime soon, won’t you?”

**>oo<**

It takes Kylo less than twenty minutes to get downtown, two of which were spent climbing the stairs to Rey’s apartment. The windows on each landing are streaked with dirt, and the cracks in the walls exhale the scent of the city air. There’s the faint scent of honey and lemon peel from the Linden trees that shoot up from the black asphalt. He bounds up the last several steps to finally reach the fourth floor, his feet paradoxically lighter.

Kylo hears her humming as he nears Rey’s apartment. The “G” still bobbles when he knocks, and the clinking it makes adds a charm to the melody Rey’s singing, slightly off key.

It might be the most perfect sound ever.

When Rey opens the door, she’s wearing a tank top and boy shorts that showcase her lean physique. Her hair is gathered messily at the nape of her neck, her beautiful face framed by those darn glasses. She peers up at Kylo, the hazel of her irises arm through her lashes, and she must like what she sees because her lips curl up into a dazzling smile.

“Hi,” she grins as Kylo steps through the threshold, his hands settling comfortably along her hips. Her hand traces the line of his jaw, the happy curve of his mouth. “I take it everything went well?”

Kylo drinks in her expression, the faith and trust in her eyes as he falls further into their depths. He’s so far gone, unsure if and when he’s ever going to stop.

“More than,” he says. He hoists her up as she wraps her legs around his waist, kicking the door shut behind him before realizing that it might have been a tad presumptuous. But Rey just lets out a peal of laughter and proceeds to kiss him senseless.

And all that uncertainty and possibility?

He finds that he quite likes it.** ** **  
** ** **

** _.❤️-fin-❤️._ **

**Author's Note:**

> **Fest theme: Demons**  
Belphegor is a shape-shifting demon and one of the seven princes of Hell. He’s associated with licentiousness and debauchery, and tempts humans through wealth and discovery. "Belphegor's prime" is a palindromic number in which "666" is flanked on both ends by thirteen zeroes and a one.  
  
*Come say "hi" on Tumblr: [nerdherderette](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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